Unintended Company
by Aury Lee
Summary: She sees him as the wolf in shepherd's clothing. When he looks upon her, he only sees himself, and the need for her is stronger than ever. A heart of stone, but with Eponine, it trembles.
1. Chapter I: Eponine

CHAPTER ONE

The rain hit the edge of her button nose with a cold, wet splatter. She turned her chocolate brown eyes up to the overcast sky, and lowered her soft eyelids- taking in a deep breath of the rain scented air. It was cool, and it sent waves of chills across her barely covered arms. She hardly minded it, though. As a matter of fact, she was used to it. It refreshed her, mentally and physically.

The thin, burgundy shawl she wore on her shoulders was pointless. The only good it did her, was the good of what fashion a poor girl could muster. The color of the sheer material contrasted with her lightly tan skin. It brought out a beauty that was rarely visible. It was mostly hidden behind dirt, and in the summer, by a thin, glossy sheet of sweat.

Today, her dark brown hair was in a disarray of curls that rarely appeared. She would wash her hair in the land lady's tub, and sleep on it- even if it wasn't much of a sleep. Her slumber consisted of lying on an old coat that her father, Thenardier, grew weary of wearing about the streets while he conned the rich out of their francs.

It was not a gift or anything. Her parents hardly gave a damn about her. That was why all she did, every single day, was walk about the streets. Often, but not _too_ often, she found a way to find food- either it be a shiny, green apple, or half of a loaf of bread. How she could afford such things? Either she would be tossed a coin out of damn sympathetic charity… or she would resort to a desperate steal, and a quick getaway.

Rarely, did she pull such stunts, though. For one thing, it made her feel just like her lovely ma and pa. For another, an officer was always watching- especially the Inspector.

"Eponine!" a voice cried out. "Eponine!"

The poverty-stricken yet proud girl turned around to look down the street. The people that always scrambled about the cobblestone pavement, either vending their goods, or chasing their children, and all the like, were retreating inside their homes. The sound of thunder rumbled through the sky, reaching her ears.

The streets had become emptier. Eponine narrowed her eyes, distracted by memories of Enjolras and dear, little Gavroche, and all of the deaths of her only friends that occurred but a couple of months ago. The very ABC café stood behind her, and she forgot the voice that called her name and turned to look at the now quiet place.

All she could see was the barricade of tables, chairs, violins, and coffins. She saw the boys, her friends, running about, rifles and pistols in hands. She heard the cannons, and took a deep breath, feeling her knees grow a little weak. She kept herself composed though.

_At least Marius was alive. At least Marius was alive and well_, she told herself- _even if it meant he wasn't alive and well with _her.

She thought of Cosette. That poor, filthy girl she had grown with had grown into a beautiful, blonde angel, with heavy curls and lovely hats, and all the nice things. Cosette had found the stars. She had found Marius. All Eponine had found was the dirt and a friendless world.

Marius would invite her to come see his estate where he lived with his Cosette, and she would come visit him. She still grew happy when he smiled his boyish smile at her, but it was different, now.

It was hard to be her charming self, when he had a wife on his arm- especially Cosette. Cosette was a very pretty and sweet thing- like a fawn, Eponine thought- and a fawn was something she did not want to offend- they being such soft things. Eponine harbored no hate towards the girl she knew when she was a child. She only harbored envy and jealousy.

It was hard to visit the two of them.

Cosette would touch Marius' hand or his cheek, and Eponine found her stomach aching from such sharp pains that she would count down three minutes, then excuse herself.

Besides, as much as she covered it with her pride and that facade of confidence, Eponine couldn't hide the dirt on her dress or the circles under her eyes.

Cosette often invited her to stay in their home, but Eponine always refused, with a forced smile, then she would depart as timidly as she had arrived.

Things had indeed changed.

No more revolutions. No more singing at the ABC. No more fooling around with her friends on the streets.

It was only Eponine and the constant evasion of her mother and father. She refused to be part of their ridiculous scandals, even if it was the only interesting thing she had to do. Eponine had no tasks to herself. No one would give her a job. She was a woman. She could be a barmaid, but when she thought of it, all she could imagine was drunk men grabbing at her, and then she saw herself breaking their arms. That was something she had to stay away from.

Eponine almost had a run in with the law when she accidentally took the wrong street. It was a cold, winter night, when she found herself at the docks. Sailor boys ran all around her, and she got the notion to leave and turn back down the street she came. What was worse, was that she heard the sounds of hysterical laughter and sickly moans. When she looked near the ships, covered in wet gowns and white powder and rouge were seven prostitutes, surrounded by a flock of sailors. They were either laying on their stomachs or sitting on their knees, chattering away, making sloppy kissing noises, and laughing, as if they had just been told the funniest joke in the world. She even saw a couple rolling around on the pavement, doing such ungodly things, that Eponine threw her hand over her mouth, and turned to go back down the street right away.

"Where do you think you're going, Miss?" a voice murmured. It was the voice of a young boy.

Eponine raised her eyebrows in horror, and tried not to turn around. She continued to walk down the street at a consistent pace, to show she wasn't phased and hadn't heard him at all. She folded her arms across her chest, shivering, and had looked up at the sky to see hundreds of stars, shimmering brightly.

Her star gazing was soon interrupted.

A hand had grabbed her shoulder, and spun her around.

Eponine turned into the chest of what looked like a young boy, with long blonde hair, and horribly black eyes. He smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth, and laughed, spraying her with foul breath of a boy who had been drinking far too much for his age.

This was why she refused to be a barmaid.

"Why don't you take your place with the ladies of the night?" he chuckled, and he raised a grimy finger to nip her cheek.

Eponine's eyes widened, and she gawked at him, stepping away quickly. He thinks I'm a prostitute whore, she had thought to herself in panic. "I am no prostitute, boy."

He looked so young. She felt like she was fending off a school boy. He couldn't be threatening. She had dealt with drunken boys before, and if one had tried to fool around with her, she knew how to reject, and how to do it without getting hurt. She either punched them, kicked them in a groin, or, if advances were weak, she would verbally reject them, and leave them with what fun they planned to ensue. After they had been drunk once, though, she found them unlikable, and let them be. Eponine had drank much for a long time, and she refused to go back to it again. She had become an alcoholic once. She became sober for a year afterwards. She still was.

This boy apparently was no sober saint. He hiccupped and fumbled along the pavement, trying to reach for her.

Eponine decided that he was pathetic, and walked on, relieved that he was in no condition to grab or force.

She had been wrong. The boy grabbed her elbow, and jerked her around.

Eponine was used to being defensive in the streets, particularly at night. Still shocked, she squealed, and instinctively clawed her fingers along his cheek.

The boy cried out in pain, and fell backwards, holding his cheek.

Eponine hadn't even given him a second look. As soon as she drew back her hand, she ran down the street, and around the corner, her heart racing. Suddenly, the sounds of screams and the blowing of a whistle met her ears. Some officers were probably at the docks, now. She imagined the drunk boy reporting her, but grew reassured as she remembered the stupid state he was in. No officer in their right mind could believe him. Soon, though, she had found a safer street, lit by streetlamps, and the sounds from a nearby café. She had stopped and looked down at her hand, and noticed blood beneath three of her dirty, chipped fingernails.

_He deserved that, bloody hell_, he did, she had thought to herself.

She stood in the overcast daylight, now, and finally turned to see the source of the voice of the person who called her.

"Eponine!"

A young barmaid of the ABC café, Ann Jeanette, hurried towards her, and grabbed her hand, smiling. She was a very peppy girl. In spite of their personality differences, Eponine was quite fond of the young woman. She was seventeen and sweet, almost like Cosette, but street smart.

"Jeanette?" Eponine raised her eyebrows in question. "What is it?"

The red haired girl tugged at her long braid, and looked at Eponine with lively, blue eyes. "An officer in the square winked at me."

Eponine rolled her eyes, smirking. "And _that_ is flattering?"

The barmaid blushed. "Why, yes. He was handsome and fine and all of that, you see."

"Officers are either dull, serious, or devils. If he winked at you, he must be Satan," Eponine murmured.

Like most street girls, she did not like the officers, at all. She didn't like Javert, but he was different. She disrespected the other officers, but she was intimidated by the inspector. She was scared of him. He was keen on throwing anyone for jail for any slight wrong doing or sin.

Ann Jeanette seemed to be more imaginative, and had more a fairy-tale outlook on such things in life. She wound her arm around Eponine's, and nodded towards the café, indicating that Eponine escort her there.

"It was _not _Inspector Javert!" Ann Jeanette laughed.

Eponine shook her head at the girl, smiling, gritting her teeth, and leaned in and laughed, "Do not say his name so loudly, Annie, girl."

The giddy barmaid giggled, and whispered, mockingly, "It was _not_ Inspector Javert."

Eponine couldn't help but laugh a little at the girl, and continued to walk with her to the ABC, the practical graveyard of all of her friends.

Little did she know, that standing behind a corner in an alley, a tall man stood in his glorious uniform, casting a shadow of doom across the pavement where Eponine and her little barmaid friend had stepped in a puddle. He heard their laughing and their talk. He didn't sense trouble from them, but something about the girl with the dark brown hair was familiar. He watched her stand in front of the café as the red-haired girl strolled inside. He watched her turn around, and stare up at the sky. The rain was only falling in harmless sprinkles. He saw her small form embracing it. She was taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes.

It was as if she was saying a prayer within her head.

Then, Eponine stared down at the pavement. She slowly dropped to her knees, unnoticed by the people who noticed the ceasing rain, and walked all around to vend and shout and sell. She was touching the cobblestone street with the tips of her hands, as if it were an odd beast that she was trying to soothe.

That is when he realized: she must have been at the barricades that night. He had seen that look on her face somewhere. It was a look of deep loneliness that he so reflected.

Inspector Javert decided to let the girl alone, and no longer mentally discuss her. She was obviously making peace with the deaths of the ruffians who fought at the café. He narrowed his eyes, and folded his arms behind his back. He stepped out of the alley and onto the street. People turned to stare, but he only watched for crimes. He never smiled or greeted. He scanned the streets in a casual manner, and forgot the dark haired street girl who was staring at the dried blood on the pavement.

Eponine stared at the red stains that mothers and sisters had tried to scrub away. Then, she stood up from the pavement. Before she entered the café to offer Ann Jeanette a short visit, she looked down the newly crowded street to see Inspector Javert himself making his rounds, in a cool and casual manner.

He was at the barricade that night. He had even been in disguise before the boys caught him.

Eponine knew this because when he was dressed in street clothes, like her or her dead friends, she had fallen into his chest in an embarrassing manner. Her hat had fallen off of her head, and some locks of her long brown hair had fallen loose from their pins, and when she looked up into the incognito Inspector's face, she feared that her secret had been revealed.

He only stared at her, with eyes narrowed, observing her features.

Before he could realize what sex she truly was, she reached down to grab her hat, and ran to join the others at the wall of objects used as a fort for their defense.

How odd it was that he did not die that night. He always found ways of escaping things. He was dark, like that. He was like a snake, slithering his way through society, with a bite full of venom. He was a wolf, herding the sheep. Some said he was a Godly man.

_If he is so Godly_, Eponine thought to herself, _he would be a _shepherd_,_ _not a wolf_.

She waited for him to disappear into the crowd of Parisians, but he did not. She could still see his hat, and his respected uniform. She wondered if he wore his badge, given to him for his 'hard work' and 'dedication' after that night at the barricades.

Then she remembered what Ann Jeanette had told her, what a sister and mother had told _her_.

Gavroche was wearing the respected and honorable pin of an officer.

Eponine shrugged away these thoughts, and turned on her heels to join her friend in the café.


	2. Chapter II: The Bridge

**Chapter Two**

"'Ponine?" The voice of Bahorel chuckled from behind Eponine in the dimness of the dying daylight.

She narrowed her eyes. Her friend from childhood was starting to become a persistent pest. It was something she should have expected from the young man. Her sister, Azelma, had given her fair warning of young boys, not yet men. Well, Azelma even warned Eponine of grown men- their desires for young women. She said that, even men matured by years, were still active in desire.

It was a fair warning for Eponine to advise. She was a street girl. However, Eponine never allowed herself to appear vulnerable. She held her head high, and strutted the streets confidently, yet completely unnoticed. The smudge on her cheek and the tangled waves of her brown hair made her a part of the street, the cobblestone, the brick walls. She had become a permanent part of the streets, and no one seemed to notice her. What boys that lived from the night at the barricade had married or become utterly dormant. Their lives seemed to have changed, and the had turned from young reckless pups into wise, old dogs. Bahorel hadn't changed, especially when he took to drinking, his regular hobby, part of his regular routine.

His routine also included following Eponine, when he wasn't with her father. Thenardier was secretly fond of the young man, being that he was a major character in the acts of thievery he concocted about the streets behind every officers' back. Bahorel enjoyed being part of the Patron Minette. He and Thenardier got along very well. Eponine hated that, but she could care less.

Eponine hardly avoided him when his head was clear. She didn't mind being alone, but, secretly, when she had any sort of company, she found that it made the day less slow- even if it company lasted for but a few moments because she often found herself pushing company completely away.

Bahorel was terrible when he was a drunken mess, though. His desires, like every other emotion of a young man, was heightened by a thousand. His drunken desire for Eponine was already starting, and it was hardly night.

"'Ponine," he murmured, in a sing-song voice. He relished the nickname on the tip of his tongue. "I bet no one has called you _that_ in a while, eh, 'Ponine?"

She rolled her eyes, and turned down another street. Everyone was retreating into their homes. Men retreated to taverns, even the officers that patrolled the streets. Eponine knew that every officer had their own tavern, in the more elaborate side of town, where the rich people did their routines- fancy dinners, strolls in the park, visiting the officials of the city. Often, the richer would come to the poorer side of town for better bargains. That was where most of the pick pocketing occurred.

Eponine sighed, thinking of small Gavroche, and when she noticed Bahorel oddly smiling at her, sadness turned to anger.

"Is there something funny?" She narrowed her rich brown eyes at him, glaring.

He laughed, fueled by her frustration. "Don't be a little viper, 'Ponine."

Eponine waved him away. "Stop saying that over and over again. It starts to get on my nerves the hundredth time you say it."

The tipsy boy squeezed her shoulders, and she pulled away. He narrowed his eyes, feeling his chest tighten. "Well, do not be pissed about me. You have left Thenardier and your mother in the dirt."

Eponine turned around and glared at him so intensely, she wished she could be Medusa, and turn him to stone. He kept chuckling, though. He had gotten a heated rise from her heated body, and he grinned with triumph.

"They disowned me, Bahorel, you idiot," she spat at him.

He hiccuped and laughed, "I bet you like acting the sulky slum about the street, with no friends."

Eponine took in his words like a strike to the face, but she mustered a smile, and turned away from him. "You're dumb from beer." She began to walk away, but added in a snide manner, "You are also dumb when you are clear-headed, so- pardon _me,_ Monsieur."

She didn't think he would, but his hand snatched her wrist. She turned to look at him spitefully, and gasped, "Don't touch me, Bahorel!"

He jerked her closer to him, and whispered, "You have lost your friends to a hopeless battle, 'Ponine, Eponine, and you are done for." He grinned, breathing on her. "You've become a ghost of the streets, and everyone at ABC talks about it- even that red-haired ninny does, too. The Friends of the ABC are no more."

Eponine's jaw dropped a little and she defensively shot her fist up, aiming for his chin, to shut him up. At that moment, she hated him sincerely, along with every one else that lived and breathed. There was no use forming bonds with friends or telling anyone anything, Eponine was beginning to realize. People will always let you down. People will always be relentlessly flawed things, and she hated to be one of them.

The young man had his chin chipped by Eponine, and he almost fell backwards.

"Leave me the hell alone," she hissed through gritted teeth.

As he held her fiery eyes, he found it was the perfect opportunity to say, most unwisely, "You are all over sore because Marius married some blonde angel."

Eponine stared at him, eyes wide. She breathed in and out deeply, forcing all of the hate into her brown eyes, so that he may sense every but of it- every damn bit of it.

It only encouraged him. "You know they probably make sweet amorous love."

This had done her in. With a cry of anger, Eponine lunged forward, and pushed a laughing Bahorel to the hard ground. He looked up at her, continuing to laugh like an evil circus clown. She felt the heat burning her ears. She fell purposely on top of his chest, straddling him violently, and began to slap him and punch him again and again in the face.

"I hate you!" She screamed. "I hate all of you!"

Tears stung her eyes, but the night that had finally drawn in, hid them, but they were not hidden to all.

Inspector Javert gripped his bat tightly in his gloved hand, pacing by the ABC Cafe. He observed it momentarily, thinking of the barricades once again, like he had done a couple of days ago. He remembered the badge he wore, claiming false dignity towards the cause of every revolutionary, and he looked down at his dark blue coat. An officer badge was pinned there. The honor badge, he had given to... a child of God, mislead and poisoned against the law. To Javert, there were two classes of people: those who served the law, and those who disrespected it.

He paced his way down the street, catching glances of several men, that were too scared to follow him. He heard commotion coming from a street to the left. He heard a girl screaming. It was enough for him to quicken his pace, just by a little. He would allow himself to rush for the sake of the law.

He narrowed his eyes, catching his reflection in a puddle of old rain water. He grunted, all-knowingly, and found himself taking a deep breath, as if it were to stable himself. That reflection of his. Those gray eyes looked so weary. He frowned deeply. He hardly looked at his reflection, especially after the night in the bridge, staring into the void.

Javert shook his head to himself, and reminded himself of the task at hand.

He heard another scream.

"Eponine, you slut! You sad, sour loveless slut!" Bahorel laughed, and he laugh even harder as she continued to hit him.

Eponine found the tears coming faster, and it was becoming more difficult to conceal them. She quickly gathered herself off of him, and walked away from him, her heart racing.

_You're a monster_, she wanted to cry at him. _You're a bastard._ The tears streamed down her cheeks.

Bahorel watched her go, glaring at her, and smiling at the same time. Then, he fell on his back, chuckling, and staring at the sky.

"Up to your feet, Monsieur."

Bahorel shot up, somewhat slow, and craned his neck as far as he could to see a blurry figure. His eyes were swollen, from Eponine's fists. He tried to ignore the pain, by laughing once more, and pulling himself to his feet.

"Walk me to the cafe, will you, darling?" The idiot said to the dark figure.

Javert narrowed his eyes in disgust. _Had this drunken fool been screaming like a female? _He grabbed Bahorel by his collar, and shoved him in the other direction.

Bahorel stumbled to the ground once again, and felt his eyes widen, recognizing this dark figure, in his dark blue uniform, with his fancy hat, his badge, and his bat to bludgeon wrong-doers.

"Monsieur- Inspector- Monsieur," he mumbled, slapping a hand to his forehead. "It is you!"

Javert raised his bat as if he intended to beat this foolish, drunk sinner, but before he could lower it in disgust, the young man shouted, "She went that way!" He jabbed his filthy finger down the street where Eponine had left for the bridge.

Javert hesitated. "What is this you speak of?"

Bahorel threw his head back, as if the idea of Eponine repulsed him. She had beaten him. He was embarrassed, but too drunk and too boyish to accept it.

"That Eponine Jondrette!" He yelled at Javert. He grinned, slowly and shakily standing to his feet. "Do not fret. She is but a ghost. No friends, and no warm bed... Do _you_ have a warm bed, Inspector? Is it warmed by the body of expensive whores?"

After already running the idiot's words through his head, Javert, with a thrust of his bat, sent the boy tumbling down the street. Bahorel ran to the cafe, tripping over everything and nothing.

_What perverted scum_, Javer thought. He was an imbecile, tainted by the Devil. No transformation could save him.

Eponine Jondrette. He had heard of her. She was of twenty-three years. Dark brown hair. Dirty face. She was an accomplice of the Thenardiers, Jondrette- that slick weasel of a man. Officers had encountered the girl, once or twice. She was never committing a crime. He had heard of her, and had been suspicious, but he had not heard of her since the barricades. It could be that she parted from the ways of her father, and his Patron Minette.

_What trouble was she?_ She was a street girl.

However, the Inspector found himself walking the direction the drunken boy had pointed. He held his arms behind his back, calmly walking, in his usual cool manner.

Eponine wiped the tears from her eyes, and released a squeal of frustration. "What is the point?" She hissed to herself. "What is the meaning of me- of my living on this God forsaken earth?" She gripped the bridge, and leaned over to breath in the rush of wind that blew over the deep river. She made a sigh of contentment, exaggerated by a slight madness that swirled in her head.

She had no friends. Bahorel was right. She was right. Even Ann Jeanette knew it. Eponine was as worse off as a widow who waited for a husband that would never come.

"_Is_ there hope?" she whispered to herself, thoughtfully. "None at all. I'm on my own."

Narrowing her eyes, she pulled herself onto the bridge, staring at the water, then at the stars.

Stars were always shining. Marius was a star, and even Cosette- and so was everyone else in the world.

"I am not a star," she murmured, and when she did, she closed her eyes. "I'm always on my own."

She was finally standing on the edge, a wilted flower on the edge of a blustery cliff.

"I will not reach. There is nothing to reach for." At this conclusion, she took a deep breath and prepared herself for suicide.

A noise from behind her pulled a sharp gasp from Eponine, and she dropped lower, both sides of the stone edge being held by her cold hands. Her heart racing, she turned her head to see an unexpected figure staring at her, with deep fear in his silver eyes.

She could say nothing.

Neither could Javert for a moment, but he soon found his voice, and looked at her with false disapproval. "Do you render it wise that you stand on the edge of the bridge?"

Eponine hesitated, not sure how to answer him. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. She wasn't stupid.

"I render it wise that you let me about my business, Monsieur." She watched him, remembering who he was. Then she realized that she intended to jump to her death anyway. He couldn't arrest her for disrespect and slander.

Javert watched her eyes that seemed to glow in the orange light of a street lamp. She was truly intending to take her own life. The thought that he, too, stood on the same bridge to commit the same act, was oddly dizzying. He stepped towards her slowly.

"Eponine Jondrette?" He asked of her, and he stood beside her, his hands behind his back.

She was still squatting there. He was so tall, and so close. She watched him, almost fearful of him.

"There's no Jondrette." Bitterness was obvious in her voice. "Please, I intend to go through with my plan."

Javert felt alarm within the pit of his stomach. He hid it well. "Life must be cruel for a street girl." She has seemed to part from the father, and the scandals.

"Pardon, Monsieur?" She stared at him, slightly shocked.

He went on, staring out at the city. "It must be a hard life."

"You mock me, Inspector," she murmured, bitterly, and when he looked at her with his silver, wolffish eyes, she quickly looked away.

"I must ask you to step down, Mademoiselle."

She shot him an indecent glare. "This is my choice. You have no power here."

Javert stared at the girl, watching her eyes taking in the black river, such as he did, the night he realized he had been wrong for years. "I _can_, Mademoiselle."

She rolled her eyes, turning to look at him. "Go on and call me Street Rat. I cannot stand 'mademoiselle'. It will not do. Besides, I am going to jump to my death, and, for God's sakes, it won't matter to either of us."

It would be easier if she was right, but she wasn't. Javert remembered how he chose not to kill himself. It was not of God, that he knew, and if he had always been wrong, he intended to make it right, for his remaining years. He was only thirty-six years of age. What a life he may live. He had to change himself. _So, did she_.

The inspector reached for her hand.

She noticed him, and jerked it away.

Javert grew uneasy. "You cannot fight, Mademoiselle. Come, now."

Eponine stared at his hand, then at the water. "There is nothing left for me, Monsieur." She smiled weakly.

"Don't be foolish."

"I am no fool!"

"Take my hand, now, or I will be forced to take further intense action, Mademoiselle."

Eponine turned her head, and spat at his clean coat. "Street Rat, Monsieur, Inspector."

He was finished with this back and forth speech. Without any warning, Inspector Javert grabbed her waist, and pulled her away from the bridge. He assumed she would return to the edge, so he carried her further and further away, till they were almost two streets away, fourteen street lamps away. She struggled and clawed at his arms.

"Let go of me! Let go!" She cried. "You inconsiderate ass!"

Javert rolled his eyes. "You will thank me soon enough."

Eponine tried to wriggle out of his thick arms. _How strong they were. _She shook away the thought. "I won't!"

Javert felt her reach for his hand and place it in her mouth. He raised his eyebrows in slight surprise as she started to bite down on his gloved fingers. He gritted his teeth with impatience, and grabbed her elbows and forcefully turned her around.

"I wish I could oblige to release you from this forceful bond," he told her, staring down into her eyes for he stood so tall and proud, "However, I cannot trust that you won't return to the bridge to go through with your ridiculous plan."

Eponine gawked at him. Why was he, the Inspector Javert, who despised all street scum, so defensive that she not kill herself. "Why do you care, Inspector?" She stared up at him. "You know nothing of me."_ Or did he?_ He did know everything, it seemed, but he couldn't. He was just a man.

Javert narrowed his grey eyes, peering towards the bridge that stood far behind them, as if it were some evil beast that he must defeat. "To kill oneself is a sin against God."

_You think I don't know that?_ Eponine wanted to shout at him, glaring into his eyes.

There was something in his, though, and it bothered her.

"I know," she murmured.

It grew silent between the two. There was only the sound of a loud piano, and laughter coming from a nearby inn and tavern. They stared at each other. Eponine refused to look away. She did not want to make herself look weaker than she already did. She stared the wolf in the eye, the wolf who was trying to be a shepherd.

"Let me go," Eponine whispered, still looking into his eyes. Her voice had softened.

Javert refused to remove his eyes. "You intend to return to the bridge." It was not a question.

Eponine hesitated, glancing at the bridge, then back at him. "If I do, it is none of your business."

He couldn't hold here all night. He considered for a moment, locking her in a prison cell, or taking her and locking her in a confessional closet to spill the sins that so disturbed her, something that could change then poor soul's mind.

Slowly, he removed his hands from her bare elbows. Eponine watched his facial features. They looked tormented. He lowered his eyes to her, and nodded a wordless farewell. He stepped away, looking around the street, casually, then turned on his booted heels to retreat down the street back to his estate which sat near the Notre Dame.

He took a deep breath, glancing to the bridge where he nearly took his life, and walked home, as if nothing had occurred this night.

Eponine watched him, her hands curled into fists. _Why did he do that?_ He tried stopping her, as if she meant something- as if the act troubled him. _Well, of course it did. He was such a man of God._ He tried saving her soul.

She sighed, and walked further away from the dark bridge, troubled and slightly humiliated. The Inspector had seen and experienced her weakness, as if she were a helpless, pathetic woman.

She hoped she never saw him again, but she knew she would, for two reasons:

For one thing, Inspector Javert was always on the streets. For another, Eponine had decided not to kill herself, _ever_.


	3. Chapter III: Javert, In His Office

CHAPTER THREE

Javert removed his hat, and folded his arms behind his back. This would have been a usual physical expression of his- only he had lowered his head, as if trouble was solid matter, and it was weighing on him greatly.

Once, he had allowed Jean Valjean to escape from his grasp. He was disturbed because he didn't let 24601 go because he had let him live that night at the barricades, but because Javert felt this, wether it be lower or higher or Godly or demonic, purpose. He felt as if he were the enemy- not the enemy of thieves and murderers, but the enemy of a saint or a hero. It made him want to spin and be sick. It made him want to die. Javert had only lived a life devoted to keeping law in order. To fall into sin was to fall into the flames of Hell. He had obeyed the law and sacrificed for it, all of these years. _Had it been wrong to do so? Had he been living his life in the wrong? Had he been unconsciously living in sin instead of against it? Had he been so blinded?_

How late the hour had seemed...for change- to begin again.

He remembered with depressed confusion, how he took the road to the Seine, walking along the Quai des Ormes, passed the Greve, and stopped at the corner of the Point Notre Dame. He finally came to the part of the Seine that was most dangerous. He had walked along the dark bridge, staring into the parapet, troubled by new anxieties revealed, that he had forgotten that this point of this river was the equal to a great rapid.

Javert looked out of his window, imagining the Jondrette, Thenardier girl, falling from the bridge into the abyss of death, and brought his gloved hand to his chin, disturbed by such dark imagery.

Had she done so? He thought, concern vivid on his features. He rubbed the beard stubble on his chin, and narrowed his eyes.

From his tall, apartment that he used for officer business, he could see the bridge, but he could see no one standing on it.

_Why hadn't he jumped? What force held him away, not against, the act of suicide? _

Did he believe there was really time to redeem himself? Hadn't Jean Valjean?

The Inspector found his eyes rising to the sky. The stars shone brightly. They were organized in no order, he noticed. They were scattered, like peasants in the slums.

_Mademoiselle Jondrette._

His mind continued to drift to the street girl.

He could have arrested her. Many times, she was a tool in the con plots of her father- part of the despicable Patron Minette. They were on the run, now. An officer in training heard that Monsieur Marius Pontmercy had paid the Thenardiers and his gang of scum rats to leave the city.

The girl was not with them.

He did not recall seeing the family at the barricades that night at the cafe. Javert could recall their daughter. He swore he had seen her.

Her. A young woman fighting at the barricades.

_What had she been doing there?_

Suddenly, the Inspector remembered her loose, brown, auburn hair and these light, brown hair peering up at him as if she hid a deep secret.

Then, Javert realized that she had.

She had been disguised as a young, foolish boy, just as he had been disguised as a street person.

So much danger for a young girl to witness. She must have been accustomed to violence, living in the slums with Thenardier for a father, all of her life.

What was she doing, now- roaming the streets as if the barricades had made her a lost spirit.

Javert narrowed his dark eyebrows.

She could not have ignored his words. She couldn't have ignored his actions. He had literally dragged her from the bridge, with no sense of propriety, but with the care of a heart that felt a mutual pain.

Heartfelt. Mutual pain. The cold inspector ran the words over in his head.

He felt as if he was shedding old skin. The thought that he was a sinner nearly pushed him over the edge again. He stared at the bridge. He should have jumped. However, he knows he should not. It was not of God. Suicide was a sin beyond all sins.

The bridge was empty except for two hysterically, laughing figures being chased by an officer, holding his hat so it would not fall into the dark river. They were obviously drunks. Typical. Most of the young officers enjoyed the chase, though, even though abiding the law was not to be enjoyed as if it were a game. Javert considered speaking with the officers at the prison about treating their duties as a serious matter, but he felt weary of it.

Javert left the window to sit at his mahogany desk.

It bore all sorts of papers and documents. They were all on '_24601_' and '_Jean Valjean'_.

Jean Valjean had passed. _Did he stand by God in heaven, with ever revolutionary, that had lived as righteous as he?_

Grimacing at the thought, frustrates with himself, Javert snatched up every single note, every marked map, and document on the man who had chased across the years, and drew towards his roaring fireplace.

"There will be no more of it," he mumbled to himself, "It is done." Taking a deep breath, he tossed the Jean Valjean papers into the fire, and watched them burn.

The sound of the burning papers crinkling was slightly a relief to his cold ears.

Gripping the fireplace with his gloved hands, he stared at his silvery white cross, whispered a helpless prayer, and stared at his reflection. He had done so two times tonight.

_What old man looks me in the mirror?_ He thought, wearily.

He was thirty-six years of age, and his dark hair was streaked with silver, like an old wolf. The dark circles beneath his grayish green eyes proved years of sleepless nights and heavy street watching hours.

Then, he looked down at his hands. A brush of dirt stained the glove on his left hand, from grasping the girl. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

He must have seen her in her darkest moment. She must be strong from years in the street, but how broken he knew she truly was.

They suddenly sounded like the same person.

The Inspector turned from his reflection, for he saw the girl there, and sat down at his now empty desk. He chose to think of her tomorrow, to search the streets, with casual and disguised manner, for her. Then, for the sake of her welfare, and because he wanted to be good and just, he murmured a prayer that he would find her alive.


	4. Chapter IV: The Tomato And The Encounter

"Eponine... Eponine!"  
The weary girl turned on her heels to see a young man in a brown cap and green vest advancing towards her in a pair of muddy, brown boots, eyes narrowed, and running a 'pick-pocketing' hand through his scruffy black hair. He was looking about him, and even made a few winks at a couple of rich money sniffing women who blushed heavily.  
_Montparnasse_.  
_God, no_, Eponine thought, troubled. _What does he want?_  
She could not simply walk away and make the direct decision to ignore him, though. He had seen her, and he knew that she had seen him in return. That was certain.  
The cobblestone street of La Mette was crowded with talkative venders and desperate merchants. The rich could be seen, strolling here and there, admiring silk materials, and trying for inexpensive hats to wear on their daily washed heads. Eponine could easily point out the wealthy women, in their fine dresses, with their curly curls, laughing at everything then laughing at nothing. She sometimes imagined herself in their place, swishing around in heavily layered skirts. Often, Cosette tried to convince her to wear some of her fancy dresses, but Eponine always refused, and she would do so as politely as possible.  
It was true that Cosette was Marius' wife, but it was also true that Cosette's father had saved Marius' life at the barricades that night. That gave Eponine more reason to regard Cosette with as much kindness that she could muster.  
Montparnasse was still coming her way, and she narrowed her rich, brown eyes with worry.  
All Eponine did everyday was wander, and when she did wander, she chose to avoid the law, especially the Inspector because of the night on the bridge- at that, she shuddered and sighed- and she had done a swell job of avoiding the Patron Minette- more importantly, her father. This also included Montparnasse, someone she had once been friends with, but not anymore.  
There was no telling what stupid Bahorel had told her father or Montparnasse after the other night.  
_All bad, of course_, she thought to herself, _and I could not care less._  
Eponine folded her arms across her chest, standing in the middle of the street, ignoring the look of a young blonde police officer that eyed her from across the street.  
"What do you want?" Eponine asked him, reluctantly, as soon as he stood before her.  
Montparnasse narrowed his eyes. "Did old Bahorel get in a word with you?"  
Eponine's eyes widened as she laughed. "A word?" She remembered the sick insults the drunk Bahorel had thrown at her and she grew sickeningly sad once again, and hateful all at the same time. "If you may call _that_ a word." Then, she stepped towards him and bitterly added through gritted teeth, "He was dumb drunk, Montparnasse. Did you dare him to come insult me? I thought it was all him, but, apparently, you put him up to harassing me." She glared at him, and nearly cried at the same time. She said it loud enough for two women to hear.  
They turned their noses up at her, and she giggled at them, forgetting the conversation she was now engaged in.  
"I didn't send Bahorel," Montparnasse said defensively. "Your father did."  
Eponine rolled her eyes. "Of course, he did."  
"They're leaving. Your mother and father and the Patron Minette are leaving the city."  
_Leaving the city? _"What?" Eponine murmured.  
He nodded, looking upon her with a spiteful arrogance. "Monsieur Marius paid them to leave. Pontmercy was telling your father how 'repulsed' he was by the 'scandals' he 'con-COCTED' and paid him 10,000 to leave and never come back."  
Eponine wasn't particularly upset by this plan, however. She simply didn't like how Montparnasse was speaking of Marius, though, as if he were some snob.  
"You know they don't want anything to do with you, Eponine." He said it without remorse, and it kind of hurt her feelings.  
It hurt even though she was glad that she was right about her family not wanting her.  
Montparnasse went on. "Your father told me to tell you that all you got is Marius, and you don't even have him because he's got sweet Cosette."  
To Eponine's sheer disappointment, tears stung her eyes. The words hit her like a few bullets, or a few strikes from a venomous serpent. She tried to cover the hurt with a rough facade, and she looked away from him.  
"So long, Eponine."  
"You are leaving with them?"  
He scoffed, "Of course. I'm part of the Patron Minette. There's nothing for me here, anyway. Unlike _you_, I can make something of myself." He spat the words.  
Eponine started to gawk at him. "When did you come to treat me this way?"  
Montparnasse was clearly ready to depart quickly from the scene, to leave behind the sickly-looking girl. Impatiently, he responded, "You've gone off the edge. Your family is leaving, knowing full well that you're not part of them. You're hardly yourself." Then he sighed, not looking at her. "You're not strong. You're just some mangy mutt on the streets. It's plain pathetic." As if he had said nothing hurtful, he left her in the middle of the street, casually.  
Eponine wasn't going to let him walk away like that.  
_Pathetic, huh? A mangy mutt, huh? I'll show you. I'll show you 'pathetic'._  
Straightening her shoulders, and growing a snarky smirk on her face, she made her way casually to a basket of bright, red tomatoes. She glanced from the vegetables to Montarnasse who had stopped to steal a green apple.  
Nearby, the young blonde officer and another, perhaps older, officer watched the determined girl with curiosity.  
When she finally reached the tomatoes, she ignored the man selling them, and found herself throwing one.  
"You'll pay for that!" The tomatoe seller cried out, reaching for her.  
The red vegetable splattered against the back of Montparnasse's head. It dripped down the back of his new vest, and captured the eyes of several people who were either laughing or gasping at the mess.  
"I know I'll pay," Eponine chortled.  
Montparnasse quickly spun around, his eyes searching angrily for her. That was the least of her problems, though. The two police officers that had been watching her, began to trot towards her, and Tomato Man was shouting at her.  
Eyes wide, and with a smile disappearing quickly from her lips, Eponine ran off into a long alley, lifting the skirts of her dresses.  
Nearby, the man in the cool, blue uniform drew towards the angry Tomato seller and paid for what Eponine chunked at the back of Montparnasse's head. He found that he was too relieved to see that she was living, to punish her for not paying for a vegetable.  
Eponine rushed down the narrow alley, followed by the two officers.  
"This is thrilling," she stated to herself between pants.  
She was at the end of the alley, and crossing Annette Street, where glossy black carriages rolled by, and with hopefully one last look at the officers who chased her, she dodged the carriages like an athletic Greek goddess, and ran into the next alley she saw.  
Eponine was pleased to be feeling like 'Eponine' once more.  
"Showed you, Monty," she snickered while she ran around a corner into another fancy street. Her heart grew sad, though, when she realized she had used his old nickname. At least he was nothing but a replica of her greedy father, now.  
"You cannot run for forever!" One of the police shouted, still behind on the corner.  
At least the street was empty, and, for a moment, she was relieved, until, not far away, she could see Marius' huge home. She gasped, flushed, and ran into a dead-end alley to hide behind two barrels.  
Eponine sat there, trying to calm her breathing.  
_Oh, God... If Marius and Cosette were to see me being arrested_... She felt her stomach churn at the thought.  
"Little street urchin!"  
The police had ran past the alley. Eponine allowed herself to release a sigh of relief.  
She stood out from behind the barrels, dusted off her skirts, and cautiously stepped out into the streets. She looked around her, to find that the officers were nowhere in sight.  
Her relief was short lived.  
Eponine took one glance over her shoulder to see him. Her tough facade and her pride seemed to face away at the sight of Inspector Javert.  
He stood by a street lamp, his gray eyes focused on her. He looked so brand new and orderly in his fancy, blue uniform and large hat. He raised an eyebrow.  
She was staring at him so closely, she could see the intrigue plain on his hardened yet suddenly gentle features.  
Then, he nodded downwards.  
Narrowing those rich, brown eyes, Eponine followed Inspector Javert's indication. Her eyes widened at the juicy, red tomato in his black gloved hand.  
With a choked gasp, Eponine turned to run, but found herself bumping into the heaving chest of an upset officer. She slightly squealed as the blonde officer grabbed her elbows and shook her.  
"You thought you could get away, girl?" He laughed in her face.  
"You couldn't get away with a public disturbance like that!" The other seemed to snarl, and he pinched her cheek.  
Eponine forced a girlish giggle. "For throwing a tomato, Monsieurs?"  
Their perspiring faces scowled her, and she knew that she was close to being imprisoned. She tried to maintain a proud smirk, though- even as the older officer pulled a pair of iron hand cuffs from his pocket.  
"For not paying for it," the blonde hissed into her face. "_Now_, you will pay for it." He pulled her close to his face, and she felt a whole different feeling of uneasiness.  
Immediately, her face grew flushed and she tried to pull away from the two men.  
"No fighting, girl," they seemed to chant.  
"Get your hands off of me," Eponine growled. Her brown hair flew about her as the younger officer picked her up off the ground.  
Javert had enough of this.  
"What is the meaning of this, Officers?" His deep voice seemed to startle them.  
The arms that held Eponine slipped down to her arms. The blonde officer blushed, lowering Eponine down, and exchanged nervous glances with the other officer.  
Eponine made eye contact with the Inspector and watched him with intrigue.  
_The man who saw her try to kill herself._  
He stared back at her, and she felt ashamed.  
He had also saved her, and by the way he was staring into her eyes, even for that brief moment, she felt as if he was about to save her once again.  
"You will let me take care of this, Officer Laughton." Javert's voice was cold enough to send chills down anybody's spine.  
Eponine stared up at him, and suddenly realized that, after he had stopped her the night on the bridge, she had forgotten how much she feared him. She always knew he was a nuisance, but, now, he was a nuisance for a whole different reason. Inspector Javert was a constant reminder of her weakness. Every time she saw him, she wasn't scared like a caught crook. She was frustrated as if he were her humiliator.  
The young officer who held Eponine's arms was so young that he was coy and very arrogant, but, in the presence of Javert, he was a puppy with his tail in between his legs.  
"Yes, Monsieur," he murmured, and, glaring down at Eponine as if she were the annoying little sister, he shoved her towards the Inspector.  
This glare and the shove didn't go unnoticed by Javert, and he scowled the arrogant pup of an officer.  
Eponine now had her nose bumped against the Inspector's chest.  
For that brief period of time, where she found her nostrils against the thick fabric of his uniform coat, Eponine smelled soap and the sweet hint of vanilla. It smelt wonderful.  
Narrowing her eyebrows, disgusted slightly with the fact that she liked the Inspector's scent, she stepped away from him, causing the two other officers to slightly jump, as if to snatch her.  
As if it were nothing, Javert, almost gently, pulled her back, and grabbed her by the elbows to hold her in place.  
Then, he faced the two officers, and in his position of superiority to them, he seemed to snarl, "If I witness such a pathetic skirmish with a woman as this again, I will be certain to report you to higher authority. Understood?"  
"Yes, Inspector," they both seemed to say in unison.  
The blonde one, by the name of Jack Laughton, looked down at Eponine with cold, disapproving eyes, and growled, "What will become of her?"  
Javert narrowed his wolffish eyes on the young officer, who seemed to him just a boy, and said coldly and undoubtedly directly, "I am the Inspector, and the girl will be dealt with. Do not question me, Laughton."  
Fear crept into her heart, and it seemed to stem from his cold, gloved hands that held her. Eponine peered over her shoulder as discretely as she could to take a look at Javert.  
_This_ was the Inspector. The one every crook feared. He was merciless. This was not the man who dragged her away from the bridge the other night.  
Laughton hesitated, ashamed, but trying not to show it. "Yes... Monsieur Inspector."  
Eponine turned her head to look at Laughton, and when she did, she made sure to gloat.  
Narrowing a pair of baby blue eyes, the young officer glared so hatefully into Eponine's eyes, she instinctively stepped back into Javert's chest, much closer than before.  
Javert noticed the look given from Laughton, and waves him off. "Both of you. Go about your business." He said it stiffly.  
Laughton gulped once, avoiding every eye, and turned to walk away, with the other officer following close behind him, trudging.  
Great. He has it out for me, Eponine thought, staring at Laughton's back before he turned a corner and disappeared with his partner. She gulped. She didn't have people out for her. She always managed to stay out of trouble.  
"Can you obey my orders?"  
Eponine remembered the Wolf that held her arms, and felt a chill. "I hope so."  
She had been wrong. He _was_ going to arrest her. He _had_ to. First of all, he knew she was a Thenardier, and, second, she hadn't payed for the tomato she threw. He was going to take her to prison. Eponine concluded that he had 'rescued' her from her pursuing officers, because he wanted to give her a sermon. That would _still_ be unusually kind and giving of Javert. She waited for her punishment. Her back was still pressed to his chest.  
"Never steal again."  
Eponine hesitated. _This can't be all._ She argued, instead, "I had to throw something at the back of someone's head."  
Javert rolled his eyes, like a teacher would do to a silly student. "That is beside the point, Mademoiselle."  
Eponine sighed. "Aren't you going to arrest me, Monsieur Javert?"  
There was a silence, then, "No."  
_No. No?_ Eponine's eyes widened, and she found herself turning to stare at him. "You won't arrest me?"  
He was looking off in the distance, trying to focus on something else. "Don't make me change my mind."  
Eponine gawked. Normally, she would run off. That was a long time ago. Normally, she would have run off to tell Gavroche that Inspector Javert had released her, but Gavroche was dead. This was a different time. Also, this situation was not normal- unless there was the exchange of...particular goods that were not to be spoken of but between close sisters or a husband and wife.  
A new idea of why Inspector Javert was treating her this way was immediately planted in her head, and she felt her skin flush. She stared up at him, suddenly infuriated, and feeling more like a woman than ever.  
"Why are you trying to care of me? Why are you merciful to me?"  
Javert stared down at her, and, for a brief moment, he admired the blush on her face. She looked so feminine, it bothered him. He realized what she has asked, and thought to himself that he didn't know why he was doing this. He knew why, but these feelings and this need to make sure she was all right was frustrating and overwhelming. Mercy was something he did not understand.  
Eponine continued, blushing harder and harder. "I am not a whore, sir. You cannot show me mercy, then expect my body in return." Her voice was a harsh whisper, as if the streets were filled and she wanted no one to hear. She didn't know why she cared if someone heard, but she did. She added through gritted teeth, "Arrest me if you must, because I am not giving you my body."  
Javert felt his heart racing at an unnatural rate. He stared down at her, and curled his hands into tight fists. His eyebrows were drawn together, making him have a very troubled visage, and he felt a sudden anger swell up in chest. "Do you take me as a pervert?"  
Eponine glared at him, intensely. "I do, now."  
"Do not. Why can you not simply accept the mercy I show to no one else?" He was so frustrated with her, and himself.  
She put her hands on her tiny waist. "Why do you show it only to _me_? High authorities such as you have advantages over poor women." She frowned deeply. "I am _not_ a poor woman." With that, she started to storm away, but she could not.  
A gloved hand held her wrist.  
She gasped and turned to look up at him.  
Javert was staring so deeply into her eyes, so intensely, that, for this moment, she felt her knees grow weak- as if he _did_ have an advantage over her. She stared into his grayish eyes, speechless. She saw green in his eyes, something she had never seen before.  
"No, you are no poor woman, this, I know," he chucked through gritted teeth. Then, taking a deep breath before, he added, "_That_ is why I show you mercy."  
She hesitated, taken aback by this act and these words. She wanted to know more. "You feel sorry for me?"  
He shook his head. "No. I simply understand you." The words rushed past his lips. They were part of an emotional concept he did not want to come to terms with. He waited for her response, looking down.  
Eponine watched his greenish gray eyes lower, then looked at the gloved hand that held her wrist. She looked up at him again to see that his eyes were on her once again.  
"That is all?"  
The way she was looking at him. He felt like locking himself away in prison. He didn't want to be around her anymore, but he did, all at once. He lowered his eyes, and replied sternly, "That is all." He knew full well that this was a lie. This was not all. He wanted her friendship...deeply. She could understand him. He didn't want to give it time, but at this rate, he would have to. She was still fearful of him.  
Eponine narrowed her brown eyes, and softly murmured, "You'll be looking out for me, won't you?" She said it as if it exhausted her.  
Javert noticed that her voice had gotten softer. He slowly replied, "Yes."  
She sighed, and looked down. "I suppose I'll have to accept it."  
Slowly, he released his hold on her wrist, allowing her to look at his eyes for a moment, then walk into the alley where she had run from.  
He turned to watch her walk away. He caught her looking at him.  
Heat rose to her cheeks, but Eponine just toughed it out, and announced, "I'll try not to stir trouble. I'll make it difficult for you."  
A sudden urge to smile alerted Javert's stern senses. Instead, he nodded in her direction as a gentlemen would, and turned on his heels to walk away.


	5. Chapter V: Marius' Thanks

CHAPTER FIVE

"Inspector Javert?" a voice said from behind his door.

He was in deep thought, with one hand curled in a fist at his forehead and his other hand grabbing his knee. He was sitting at his desk with that always thoughtful look on his face. He removed his hand from his forehead and looked at the mahogany door of his apartment office.

"Announce yourself!" The inspector called, in response to the unnecessary silence.

"Marius Pontmercy, Monsieur." It was a young man.

Javert's eyes lit up with recognition. He stared at the door for a moment, with Jean Valjean's visage on his mind, but it was blurred now. It was a faint image, but it was surrounded by a glow, a constant reminder of a life lived incorrectly. That stirred him, and he took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

This was the husband to Valjean's daughter, the one he must have not stolen from the Thenardiers. Those liars. They were never in condition to raise a child in the way of The Lord.

This made him think of Eponine, and the teasing way she accepted his protection. She had no idea that protection was only little of what he wished to offer her.

Since the day he made part of his intentions clear to Eponine, he had been keeping an eye on her. He had to admit that she was quick and sneaky. She would slip through crowds, and, sonetimes, she would stride beside him, almost teasingly. He believed that she was often attempting to break through his stern exterior. She would eye him and when he met her bright brown eyes, she would flash a girlish smile, and leave him right away. She played games, he knew. They were harmless. He couldn't merely watch her anymore. He wanted to start conversations, and he wanted to share dinner with her. Games and protection weren't enough.

Shaking her away from his mind, he returned to the arrival of Monsieur Pontmercy. He elegantly rose from his chair, and walked to the door of his apartment office. There, he opened the door to see the slightly rosy face of a young man, looking at him, with obviously something on his mind.

"Inspector Javert, I am here to thank you, sir."

True, it seemed he had a youthful disposition, but it was not mistaken that the young man spoke with the voice of one beyond his years.

Javert hesitated, not certain as to what the duke Pontmercy was offering thanks for- perhaps, for upholding the duties rightfully as Inspector, but that was all Javert could imagine being thanked for. There was nothing else about himself, he believed, that one would be thankful for.

He did not want to be impolite. He opened his door wider, and gestured inside. "Would you like to come in, Monsieur Pontmercy?"

The young man, Marius, hesitated, as if accessing the words quickly and becoming surprised by the kind gesture, coming from the much-feared Inspector. Marius did happen to be aware of Inspector Javert's status and person, and he did realize that once, this man was one of the very men that he rebelled against. However, Marius knew that he was thankful for one particular reason.

"It won't be long, Inspector Javert, but thank you for the offer," and Marius nodded his head, as good manners intended.

Javert narrowed his eyes, curious. "Of course, Monsieur." Then he added, "What is it you wish to thank me for?"

Marius smiled a very quaint, smooth smile, and declared, joyfully, yet quietly, "I have a dear friend, a girl, that lives about the streets." He narrowed his eyes, as if remembering something dark. "Often, my wife and I have tried to persuade her to reside with us in our home, but, often, she refuses." He slightly smiled. "Eponine Thenardier is a very good friend of mine, Monsieur, and I must admit that I saw the situation that occurred down the street from my estate."

Javert hesitated. _This young man is a close friend of Eponine's? A close friend. _He has only and merely tried to persuade her to stay on his estate?

Javert took a deep breath.

If he were a friend of Eponine's, he would spend no time with persuasion. He would have snatched her off of the streets, and locked her in her very own bed chamber, with servants tending to her every need. He would have no rejection or struggle. He wouldn't take it.

As for Pontmercy's last words, he murmured, "A situation with your friend?"

He acted clueless. He knew what the boy spoke of.

"Those two officers that were grabbing Eponine," and Marius hesitated at this, trying to restrain himself. "I am certain the officers were well respected, but I was close to making my advances to them as well- until you showed up." His eyes rose from the floor to Javert's squinting eyes. "I saw you handle the situation to help my dear, lost friend. That, I thank you for."

The inspector hesitated, imagining this boy watching the scene from the window. He just watched his supposedly dear friend get bashed about. How dare he.

Narrowing his eyes, attempting not to dismiss the boy with obvious distaste, he nodded his head, and murmured, "It is my duty, Monsieur."

Marius was not leaving yet. "You see, she is alone. I sent her family out of the city. You understand her father leads the Patron Minette. He often tried to make her work for him, but she had grown tired of him." As if forgetting Javert was standing before him, Marius lowered his eyes, and sighed, "She saved my life at the barricades one night, Inspector. She's a strong human being." Then, he raised his eyes. "Thank you."

Javert forced a small smile. "As I told you before, it was my duty."

"Yes, but you could have arrested her," and, at this, Marius took himself aback, by his burst of words, his train of thought, and he stared at the inspector, expectantly.

Javert focused his eyes elsewhere, taken aback by the boy's words. He gulped once, then raised his head proudly. "She committed no crime. Therefore, there was no reason for her arrest."

That was a complete lie. She had stolen a tomato.

Javert would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't in Pontmercy's presence.

Strange. All of a sudden, this little thievery was something to be laughed at.  
The Inspector felt his stomach tighten. He really was changing.

Marius smiled and lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed by making his earlier accusation, and murmured, "I see. Well, I suppose I will be on my way home, Inspector Javert."

Javert stared at the boy for a moment, remembering him from the barricade, and wondered why he hadn't arrested him. He must have been there, obviously, since he stated that Eponine herself had come to his rescue. He wondered how, but before he could focus his mind on his little street girl, he had to dismiss her so-called friend.

"Farewell, Monsieur Pontmercy." And he performed the age old headbow, the polite nod, and watched the boy walk away, to reach the stairs that he would descend.

After watching his head disappear, Javert retreated into his office, and quickly made plans to search for Eponine that evening.


	6. Chapter VI: Close Encounters and Rescue

CHAPTER SIX

Eponine strut down the street, meanwhile pulling her hair into a braid from the side. She wound some small black ribbon around her fingers to tie it with. It was a little thing to focus on, and it wasn't smart to distract herself from her surroundings at this hour.

The sun had fallen, and the atmosphere was dark. The night had just begun, and she was out for a casual stroll. Well, she was always out for a stroll, it was true.

She smiled, raising an eyebrow. She was a living contradiction. She intended to remain that way. She was a woman, yes, and a poor woman at that, but she would never let herself fall again. She would never consider taking her own life. Oh, how she swore thoughtfully against it.

She rolled her eyes, grimacing at the thought, and continued down the street. The sounds of laughter rang from the ABC Cafe.

She stopped, and looked around her.

She felt as if she were waiting. Her stomach was tight and she bit her bottom lip.

She wondered if Inspector Javert was standing around somewhere, watching her.

She started to smile, as if he were, and she wanted him to see her smile.

"Eponine?"

Eponine slowly turned around, when in reality, her heart kind of skipped a beat. When she turned, a feminine familiar face looked at her, blue eyes narrowed.

"Ann Jeanette... Good evening." She forced a smile, when all she could think about was what Bahorel told her that night- how everyone thought she had gone off the wrong end- even Ann Jeanette. She tried not to look with disdain at the supposed friend that she hadn't spoken to in days, and simply stared at the girl.

Ann Jeanette hesitated, lowering her eyes to the street ground, then murmured, "I feel like you've been avoiding me, Eponine."

This girl.

Eponine breathed heavily. Eponine refused to keep up with anyone. Since the bridge, she hadn't carried a conversation with anyone much- except Javert.  
She inwardly laughed at that. Of all the people, of all the French, she had made most conversation with Inspector Javert.

Eponine found herself wondering about the tall officer. She envisioned him, leaning against an alley wall, holding a tomato in his hand, a reminder of her hilarious crime. He had obviously seen her hit Montparnasse in the back of the head.

_Oh, good God, why did Inspector Javert INSIST on looking after the likes of me? _Eponine thought.

Then, she remembered the girl standing before her, waiting for her to say something.

"I avoid a few people," Eponine told her, half-smiling, and referring to the Patron Minette. Rolling her eyes upward, then back on the petite Ann Jeanette. "You are not one of them, Ann Jeanette."

The girl with the dark red hair had a smile creeping upon her pink lips. She looked up at Eponine, pleased by her answer. "Oh, that's wonderful to hear! I thought you were-"

"Dead?" Eponine spoke too quickly. She widened her eyes, and laughed uneasily.

Ann Jeanette, of course, did not understand the context behind this, and just laughed, "No! It's only that you never visit me at the ABC anymore."

Eponine hesitated. "Well, Ann, it is still difficult to go back there." She gulped once, and felt a knot in her stomach.

She thought of little, sneaky, smart Gavroche... All those boys that were once alive and well, laughing and drinking. Sometimes, when she came near the ABC she could hear them singing. Then, she would hear the cannons, and the cries of those very boys that once sang with all of their voices.

"Oh... I see." Ann Jeanette had more to say, though. She narrowed her eyes, and shifted her eyes elsewhere. "It has been a couple of months, Eponine."

Eponine raised her eyes to stare at the red-head. Suddenly, anger seemed to flow into her throat, stemming from her racing heart. She glared, not caring that the girl was all sweet and fragile. She was contemplating on letting her have it.

"You didn't know them, my friends. They all died. They're all dead, Ann Jeanette. They were either stabbed by an officer, or shot down by a cannon. That place brings nothing but awful memories." Eponine found that she was not shouting. She was calm, because she was secure to what she was saying, and cold because she knew it to be the awful truth. Ann Jeanette was looking down, obviously ashamed or sympathetic. Eponine seemed to not care, because she added, "My family disowned me. I haven't spoken to my sister in years. My father hates me, and Marius is-" and she stopped herself, inhaling sharply. She was close to saying, 'Marius is in love with Cosette' but Ann Jeanette would trot off and tell the whole world.

Eponine narrowed her eyes. She was about to turn on her heels and walk away, but the red head grabbed her hand.

"I'm sorry, Eponine."

Eponine was truly a thoughtful girl. She found it in her heart to gently squeeze the young girl's hand, and say, "You meant no harm, I know."

The girl nodded slowly, agreeing with this, then murmured, like a hurt animal, "I'll be on my way home, now."

Eponine watched her walk away, sadly, but said nothing.  
All of a sudden, the street she stood on seemed darker than ever. They sky had no stars. The moon hid behind the clouds.

Eponine walked down the street, her arms folded across her chest. Her burgundy shawl was upon her shoulders, but it would never keep her away from the chill of the air.

It was a wonder she had not become ill yet.

Perhaps, Inspector Javert was watching from afar. That meant he would have heard her sorrowful explanation. Javert had been at the barricades that night. He had seen them die as well. He had also given his badge of honor to Gavroche, who lay dead on the floor of the cafe.

What made Javert do that?

She saw him in her head, the man in the dark blue uniform, with the silver stars on the collar. She envisioned him walking about the cafe, looking down at the boys of the revolution, not feeling particularly proud or gallant. Maybe that's why he gave Gavroche the badge. He must have figured that Gavroche deserved the honor more, and he did.

_What a meaningful thing to do, Javert_, she thought to herself. She narrowed her eyes, and felt a surge of tears.

What if Javert had seen her cry?

"I'm perfectly fine on my own, Monsieur," and she forcibly winked at her own imagination of him, standing in some shadow like a vigilante.

"Are you, now, love?"

Eponine gasped slightly, and turned quickly on her heels to face a young man, it seemed, wrapped in a navy blue coat, with a black scarf covering his mouth. She stared at him, eyes narrowed.

He chuckled. It was muffled behind his scarf, but she could hear it plainly.

"You shouldn't be alone on the streets at night, girl."

She gulped once. "So, I have been told." And he chuckled again- only this time, she saw his baby blue eyes, and felt a sudden strike of panic.

He kept accounting, with that thoughtful look, how Pontmercy spoke of Eponine, and how she had, according to him, saved his life that night at the barricade.

Javert narrowed his eyes, looking down at the cobblestone pavement, and suddenly remembered, with vivid imagination, that day he grabbed her away from the idiotic officers. He recollected how she felt, in between his hands- a fragile, feminine thing. His large, masculine hands held her arms so, and he loomed so close to her- behind her- with her back pressed up closely against his chest. She must have felt his cold, golden buttons, through the thin material of her dirt-smudged dress.

Eponine was not an ordinary young woman.

If she were, his thoughts would not continue to drift back to her, and this longing to watch over her would not exist. However, it did, and, as he walked the dark street, he knew she had to come out from somewhere. Eponine often did. She seemed to enjoy the thrill of surprising the fearsome Inspector Javert.

It was true that he couldn't have been more grateful for finding her on the bridge that night. Often, he regretted that he saved his own life, but there was something painfully unique about Eponine. It made him thankful that he had not taken his own life.

It could be that she was around the corner at this moment, and she would come out of hiding and playfully shove into him- as if she were some rowdy school boy.

It was unladylike, and Javert had raised himself in the way that was pleasing to The Lord, manner-wise. Eponine had not, but that made her some vibrant wildflower, a rose with thorns. He was hardly a flower. He was some hateful wolf pacing the streets, and he was aging. He felt as if he never grew older, when he was on the prowl for Jean Valjean, but, now, that he had passed, Javert felt as if he were some old dog.

Thinking of Valjean, 24601, Inspector Javert narrowed his gray eyes. The feelings he felt the night he almost took his life returned. He saw himself standing on the bridge, pacing, with the toes of his boots hanging off of the edge of the stone. He could hear the rushing of the water, and the sound of his voice and his thoughts- excruciatingly shameful.

Suddenly, Eponine stood in his place, in his thoughts, and she was the one standing on the bridge. She was wearing a black dress, with a silver shawl flowing around her. He could see her dark brown hair dancing in the wind, and her bright brown eyes looking down at the river that could kill anyone.  
Then, he saw himself grabbing her hand, and the stars seem to shine brighter.

He found a smile tugging at his lips from the thought, until he heard a scream echo from an alley down the street.

His heart started to pound, and he took off at a true run.

Javert was always a collected man. He never ran for anything or anyone. This was different.

He reached for his bat in his belt, and wished the sounds of his boots hitting the ground was more frequent and far faster. His eyebrows were pulling together with almost painful worry.

Another scream rang out, and if he wasn't sure that it was her the first time, he was certain now.

She screamed, "Get yours hands off of me! Please!"

He growled, as a lion would to protect his lioness. That last 'please' that had spilled from her lips, struck some nerve deep inside of him, and he turned, with anger and concern-driven determination, into the alley, where her screams emanated from.

He straddled her waist. She was pinned to the ground, wriggling beneath his weight. She screamed and tried to push him away, but he had her wrists shackled together, like a prisoner.

Eponine released a blood-curdling scream, as he leaned down, and laughed in her face.

"You're getting what you had coming to you," Officer Laughton chuckled, and, with a smirk on his face, he thrust his mouth upon hers and muffled her scream for help.

Eponine's face burned with anger and shame. He bit her bottom lip so hatefully and painfully, tears filled her eyes. He moved on top of her in a perverted fashion, just so that he could humiliate her further. She felt a thick, desperate sob rising in her throat, as he moved his hands up and down her waist.

He looked upon her, like the devil himself. Devils came in a charming disguise  
The officer was some blonde haired and blue eyed young man, with a pension for revenge. "You didn't think I'd let you get away, did you, street whore?"

She glared up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. With a strong pull of her lower body, she tried to roll out from beneath him, but it was no use. He was far too strong.

He would surely have her, if no one came for her.

She choked on a sob, flushed and humiliated. She started to scream, but he thrust one hand over her mouth. Laughton grinned like a sick monster, and ripped open the front of her dress with the other.

Eponine screamed, trying to push him away, but that only brought her hips closer to what lay in between his legs. She grimaced, and felt her stomach grow weak, as if she would vomit. She blushed, her ears burned so, as the feminine parts of her breast became visible and clear to him.

"How darling," he chuckled, and to Eponine's horror, he gripped her very own feminine mounds, making her cry out in pain.

"Get your hands off of me! Please!" And she sobbed the plea, and it was humiliating to Eponine. Her face burned so, and she screamed like a savage and wept like a poor angel.

The young, sick officer laughed, rolling her breast against his gloved, cold palms. He smirked devilishly. "Your Inspector savior cannot save you, n-"

However, Eponine had squinted her eyes shut, wincing, as the heavy blow came upon the back of her violator's head. Her arms were still held over her own head, shackled at the wrists, and, for one second, the body of Officer Laughton laid on her body, limp. She was still crying, and her breasts were aching from...his monstrous touch. She grimaced and sobbed once more, too disturbed and sick to push him off.

Suddenly, his body was jerked off of her, and there was a heavy smack and a thud sound- as if the body had hit the alley wall and fallen to the ground.

Eponine saw through her tears, Inspector Javert standing before her, staring at the body of Laughton, his chest heaving. He was glaring intensely. His nostrils flared. His hat was on the ground, and one of his white gloved hands was curled into a fist.

Slowly, he turned to her.

She stared up at him from the ground, and felt her mouth dry. She could not speak, given her previous situation. Her eyes were cloudy with tears, and her lips trembled.

Eponine did not want to feel this way. She had been hurt, humiliated, and violated. If she had the strength, she would rise up, and beat the hell out of that monster that lay dead or unconscious. She hoped he was dead.

She lay on the ground though, her wrists bound, and her bare chest heaving up and down.

His mouth had seemed to dry, too. He knew what the violator had attempted to do. Rolling his gloved hands into fists, he glared down at the body of the young officer, thinking of all the ways he could destroy this boy. _He could flog him. He could whip his bare back till he bled. he could throw him down on a bed of knives. He could hang him in the gallows. He could burn him alive. He could bury him alive. He could throw his body off of the bridge. No punishment would be enough, not for what he had done to Eponine this night._

He grimaced at the thought, and looked upon his Eponine.

"Javert," she whimpered his name. She lay on the ground, weak.

He saw the shackles that chained her wrists, and turned to Laughton's unconscious, vile body- a vessel for a demon spirit. He kicked the body over so it lay on it's back. Javert reached into his pocket, and found the key easily.

Then, savagely, he spit on Laughton's body, a very calm gesture of hatred and disrespect. He turned away, so he could devote all of his attention to Eponine.

He drew towards her, and knelt beside her to unchain her. He saw her breasts, and his cheeks flushed.

He had never been so close to a bare woman. He had never been so affected.  
Eponine was so distraught and frightened, that she gave no mind to it. She just closed her eyes, and tried to teach herself how to breathe again. She did not even thank him. She had no words. She had never been touched so. She had never been violated.

Her chest heaved with a thick sob.

He reached for her wrists, and in doing so, he brushed against the tips of her feminine parts.

He forced himself not to respond the way normal men would. She has just been hurt, and violated in the streets. He was here to comfort her, and he hated himself for not finding her before this happened. Something in his chest ached, and he narrowed his eyes as he unlocked her wrists.

Without hesitation, Eponine, in spite of what tough exterior she always wished to retain, she realized that she could not, now, and she whimpered his name like a child who had hurt her knee. "Javert... Javert, this never happens... This never happened, Javert." Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Javert looked upon her, thoughtfully, then grabbed the shackles. Determined, he stood up, and pulled the unconcious officer up by his wrists. Angrily, he chained his hands together tightly, and tossed him up against the wall, where he then fell face down on the ground. He began to moan and writhe pathetically in pain. That was when Javert bludgeoned him in the back of the head with his bat again, grunting with frustration again.

"I hope he rots in Hell," Eponine grumbled, from where she lay.

He turned back to her, and replied softly, "I will make it so."

"You would do anything for me, would you not?" She gulped, trying to moisten her mouth. Aching, she reached down to cover her breast. She blushed deeply for she knew that the Inspector has seen them.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes drawing in her skin. It seemed to glow in what light the moon would show. Her mounds moved up and down beneath her hands. Something deep in his stomach seemed to move him powerfully.

"I would do my duty to protect you," he murmured, moving swiftly towards her. "You are me, and I am you- whether you wish to believe it or not. I do not know." He knelt beside her, and found himsel looking into her brown eyes. "I have to protect you. Tonight has made me realize that more than ever."

Javert, in the moment, reached his hand down slowly.

Eponine watched his white gloved fingers, almost frightened. He was a man. They all were. She found, though, that his hand was not reaching for her breast, but for her hand.

Instantly, forcing himself to ignore the sight of her fair breast as he held her hand, he gallantly swept her up from the street and held her close to his chest. He would take her to his apartment office, then he would summon a carriage, and take her to his estate where she would sleep in one of the many bedrooms. He didn't care. He would not accept it anymore. She was no longer safe on the streets, and she would reside in his home. He did not care what society would say, or the officers. She would be cared for, and that was what mattered.

He held Eponine closely. Her lips were close to his neck. She wept, and he could feel the wetness of her lips upon his skin.

She let him carry her. She had never felt so pathetic. She had always refused to be so, but, as Inspector Javert, the wolf, carried her in his arms like a helpless child, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and closed her eyes, wishing that she would wake up, and the confusion and the humiliation of her violation, and the sudden draw to the Inspector would all fade away into nothingness.


	7. Chapter VII: Laughton, the Serpent

CHAPTER SEVEN

He woke up, in a puddle of mud. His wrists were still in cuffs, only he found that his head rested against metal bars.

The girl- the girl that had escaped his arrest on the street that day. He had finally made his own personal arrest on her, himself. He recalled her struggle, and grinned. He remembered how she lay on the ground, and how her petite body wriggled against his burning groin.

He had to admit that even though he hated her particular kind, grinding against her body, enflamed that natural desire. Only, he felt much more passionate, as if the two of them were surrounded by a ring of carnal, sexual fire.

He smiled, and stretched his arms across the cold stone floor.

"_Hell is this?_" When he opened his baby blue eyes, he realized that he had forgotten about the iron cuffs on his wrists. "Where am I?" He looked up, running his stare along a long brick wall to a small, rectangular bar window. Then he tried to roll over onto his stomach, and when he did, not only was he faced with cross-crossed iron bars, he was faced with the terrible realization that he was imprisoned in the very prison he served for.

He was covered in mud, and there was something on his face, dried, but still carrying the smell of iron.

Blood.

"The slut attacked me," Jack murmured to himself, unbelieving.

"Which do you prefer, Laughton? The gallows or fire?"

_That cold voice_.

Laughton grunted with sheepish surprise and peered upwards from his stomach to see the Inspector Javert, standing in front of his cell, like a dark king.

His hands were folded behind his back, and his shoulders were held back, pushing his chest forward. His squinted eyes stared down at him, and his lips formed this disgusted scowl that even made Laughton feel like a serpent.

"Inspector Javert, what mad lie put me in this prison cell?" He pleaded pathetically, and he glared, thinking of Eponine, ignoring the sexual sensation that the thought of her gave him. "Did that street girl send me in here? I assure you, Inspector, that she is full of lies. She must have attacked me last night, and bound me with my own cuffs, Monsieur." There was a sudden throbbing in the back of his head, and he winced. "That girl must have bludgeoned my head, sir, for I feel and smell the blood on my forehead. Oh, this is ridiculous, sir. I must be released. That girl-" he stopped, though, finally realizing what flashes in Inspector Javert's eyes.

Never before, had he felt so much hate for a man. Never. This man was not even a man. He was a snake, slinking along God's earth, on his stomach, with his tongue in dirt-filled trenches, and his hands twisting the righteous and the innocent.

_Innocence_. Javert remembered Eponine, and how she lay helplessly in the dark alleyway. He recalled how her tremblings hands moved to cover her feminine breasts.

This angered him even more, and there was nothing the Inspector wished to do more than to have this man's limbs torn apart one by one.

"I am the one who bludgeoned you," Javert growled.

Laughton's filth-covered face instantly paled. "Pardon, Inspector?"

Javert slowly stepped towards the bars, his eyes, filled with cold venom, narrowed on the man who attempted to rape Eponine. "You have committed a crime against a young woman. I know, because I was there, and I saw you.

I did not hesitate to beat you, then, and the only thing restraining me from ending your useless life, are these bars, and my faith in God- for I know that no death will overpower what the flames of Satan's Hell will offer you."

The words that came from the inspector's mouth sent chills down Laughton's spine. This conniving young man could put on a brave face for anyone, but no one could pretend before Inspector Javert.

"Even if I were to break your neck with a thrashing of a whip for hours, Hell will be infinitely more severe. That will go the same for, if I crushed you with stones, or if I strung you by your neck, and watched you dangle in fire." Javert was really attempting to remain calm, so he paced back and forth. It was a try to cool down, but, even so, Laughton stared at him cautiously and fearfully, as if the inspector were a lion, waiting to maul him maliciously.

This was the end. This was it for him. Laughton felt as if he would vomit. He could not be killed for this. He hadn't really molested her, _had he?_ He had always escaped from situations such as these, but, now, it seemed hopeless. If it wasn't for Inspector Javert, he could be safe in font of his fireplace, satisfied from the throws of forced carnal lust with the street girl who got him in trouble with the inspector in the first place.

That's when Laughton made a realization.

"You seem to always be around, when that girl is in trouble."

Javert stopped pacing, and slowly turned to look at this stupid boy. "Say what you will. I would like to hear your discovery." Sarcasm dripped in his tone like caramel off of a poisoned apple.

Laughton cocked an eyebrow, feeling intensely curious and clever. "You agree with me, do you not? I notice you on every street, standing on every corner, and much too often, she is nearby." He grinned, then something seemed to fill him with some sort of breathless surprise. "_My God, you have your way with her each night. That's why you attacked me before I could_-" and he wiggled his hips upon the ground in a disgusting manner.

That was when Javert had heard enough. He gripped the bars with his black gloved fingers, and pulled his head close to them, as if he were about to hiss at the monster on the other side. His eyes were widened with violent hatred and he shouted, "You will be executed! There will be no mistake about it, you sick bastard!"

Instead of fear, Laughton only felt amused. He laughed outright, "How comical! The inspector does get hungry for the flesh!" And he rolled over onto his back, laughing.

Javert felt as if he were close to bursting into the cell, and taking this creature's life. "No. Unlike you, I have a higher respect for the women of this world."

Laughton's roaring laughter ceased and he peered up at Javert, courageously smirking. "It must have upset you, that I held her between my legs so."

This made Javert's stomach boil. He continued to glare at the thing with striking fury.

Laughton continued, nonchalantly. "It must have made you jealous. She will never be between yours."

Javert was close to grabbing the keys away from the guards, so he could enter the cell, and pull a pistol to this snake's head, but he stopped.

Laughton laughed from the floor, dried with blood and mud. His uniform was caked with mud, and his blonde hair was stained from pain and his mind was stained with a deluded arrogance and a devilish prospect.

He was clearly not worth physical exertion.

At this, Inspector Javert forced himself to say not a word, and he turned on booted heel to leave the prison. It was noted by all officers that Jack Laughton was to be publicly stripped of his officer position, and executed at the gallows that afternoon. His task at hand was complete the moment he bludgeoned him the night before.

In spite of it all, the only thing that seemed to matter to Javert was that Eponine was safely tucked beneath blankets in her new bedroom, on his estate, sleeping soundly, and that is how he would keep her- comforted and secure.


	8. Chapter VIII: The Inspector's Estate

CHAPTER EIGHT

The bridge. The water rushed violently below her. She gripped the edge, staring off of the stone, and into the parapet of darkness. Her knuckles were white and clean. She was wearing a long velvet blue cloak. She breathed, and white smokey fog slid from between her trembling lips.

The streets were empty. No merchants, no venders, or thieves. No wealthy couples, walking arm in arm. No pompous girls in fancy dresses prancing about, trying on bonnets, and sliding silk ribbons in between their oh-so delicate fingers.

Eponine was the only human being on the bridge, it seemed, and with the thick and rapidly increasing fog, the buildings, the houses, the parks began to disappear. Only the bridge could be seen. It looked as if the bridge were the only thing in the universe.

Eponine narrowed her rich, brown eyes, and peered into the rushing waters, struck with the sense of this: absolute loneliness and desperation, as if there were no other way to go.

Suddenly, there was the sound of thunder and the patter of rain. The rain did not fall onto her, though, only around her, and she looked about her, her heart starting to pound.

The fog shifted in, along with a chuckle- a sinister chuckle.

Laughton stepped out of the heavy mist, running a red-gloved hand through his blonde hair. He was wearing a black police uniform, and an unpleasantly charming expression on his deceitful face. He strode towards her arrogantly.  
Eponine watched with a frightened expression as he ran his fingers from his hair to his stomach, making this satisfied growling noise with his mouth that made his seemingly purple lips raise in a strange way.

"Eponine..." He grinned.

Eponine pressed her back against the stone, and she tried to open her mouth to yell hatefully at him, but no sound came.

"'Ponine, dear... Mademoiselle Thenardier... Oh, Eponine... Eponine."

Her eyes widened.

His voice came in different tones. He spoke with different mouths. His voices matched those of Azelma, Ann Jeanette, her father, and even Marius. She stared at him, unable to be feisty or vigilant. She could only watch him cautiously, suddenly forgetting how the river roared below her.

Laughton was coming too close to her. His red-gloved hands reached out for her, like the Devil, himself.

Eponine struck at him with her fists, but he laughed, dodging her immediately. She struck again, bitterly, but only found herself quickly and unfortunately falling backwards. The stone wall behind her had crumbled, and her heels slipped over the edge of the bridge. She screamed this time, her voice only coming out in some mangled squeal. Her body weight was falling backwards too quickly. Her arms were flailing, as gravity pulled her from the bridge.

Her hands caught hold of Laughton's arms, and she found that he was pulling her to him. She wiggled against him, closing her eyes, her heart racing. Not knowing whether to reach or to fall.

"Eponine! Eponine..." He tried to be gentle, but this was something he was not accustomed to. She was in his arms, grasping his shoulders, her head rolling about. She gasped, "No!" and "No!" over and over again. He stared down at her, his silver green eyes widened, and his bare hands holding her. He tried to wake her. Her face was so close to his, and she shook her head. He saw the sweat glisten upon her upper lip. Her eyebrows were driven together in fear. He could feel the sweat on her arms from beneath her white nightgown.

Luckily, he had Josette, the maid, here. The first time he had hired her seven years ago, to join his very small staff to tend to his estate, she had told him that she had six daughters and four sons. She was accustomed to young women, and once Javert had told her that he would be having Eponine in his home, she grew emotional right away and fetched hand-me-down dresses and gowns for the 'poor, lovely child' to wear.

"Eponine," Javert murmured, close to her, wishing that she would awaken.  
This struggle she was giving him. _What awful dream was she dreaming?_

He thought of that bastard, Laughton, and, immediately sorrowful, knew that his harassment on Eponine had left her wounded and with nightmares.  
She had been resting for a couple of days. She often awoke, slightly conscious, but only was accompanied by Josette and a servant named Phillipe. Then, she would fall back into sleep. In these times, the Inspector was on the streets, making his rounds.

Javert narrowed his eyes.

Laughton was dead. Only, he hadn't been there to watch. He couldn't have.

"Monsieur, is everything all right? Whatever is the matter?" The elderly maid, kind, surly Josette, peered into the wide bedchamber, shaking her head with worry, her springy silver curls shaking.

Javert slightly gasped as Eponine's body seemed to thrust forward against his chest, and her head rested on his shoulder. She gasped. He hesitated, and found that she was mumbling something along the lines of, "Let me be, you monster."

Javert listened further, but she only breathed softly, like a small child. He slowly turned his head to make contact with old Josette, whom he knew well.  
The old woman nodded in some affirmation. "My princesses often shook from nightmares. I will fetch some water and a soft rag." With that, she slipped from the doorway, leaving the inspector with poor Eponine.

He, slowly, as if she were china glass, laid her gently down onto the bed, his eyes focused on hers. They were closed. Her hair was laying across her face. He began to reach to tuck it away, but he kept his hands on his knees, instead. He simply stared at her.

Her new bedchamber was cool. The doors to the balcony were slightly open so a cool breeze would swiftly soar in from the overcast atmosphere outside.  
He noticed how her cheeks were flushed.

Perhaps, it was good that the wind become a presence in the room as she slept. Her skin looked warm, and it glistened with sweat.

He imagined her running about the streets, sweating. Of course, she wore thin dresses. He wore thick uniform, however. His hair would mat down with sweat, along with his underclothes as soon as he came to the mansion to peel away his uniform from the day of street watching.

Javert appreciated the coolness of the outside streets. It was rather melancholy, he noted, but the heat was far worse. He imagined Eponine freezing out on the streets, kneeling in some alleyway. He slightly grimaced and looked down at her.

She was staring right up at him.

He gulped once, staring back. He forced himself to gently bow his head to her, as his greeting.

Eponine's eyes strained on him for the longest moments, and then they began to wander around her, as if for the first time. Her lips opened as if to speak, but, instead, she leaned up rather abruptly. "Is this your home?" She asked him. Her words came slow.

_Her voice was like a dewdrop_, Javert noticed, _or a chime_- rather unexpected from a girl of the slums.

He looked down, and nodded once. "It is. It is my estate on the North Side, near Rue La Mette."

She hesitated. "Near the park of trees?" She seemed to be calming herself.

He watched her eyes move towards the balcony doors, to see the clouds outside, and the towers of every building. "Yes. It lies beyond the balcony, beyond my gates."

Eponine seemed to suddenly realize where she was, and who she was having for company, then she slowly raised herself out of the bed, her eyes cast downwards. She gulped once, almost nervously. Then, she raised her eyes to his.

"It is beautiful here," she murmured, "and I've just only seen the bedchamber." She forced a wistful smile.

Javert forced barely a smile, in response, but he only thought of how he had carried her from his apartment that night with Laughton. He remembered, how with gentleness, he placed her in his carriage, and rode with her, so she could stay in his estate, with his buggy boy, Robette, at the reigns. She curled up upon the red velvet seat, and shivered, so he placed his coat over her. Then, when the carriage rolled by the prison, he swiftly ordered the thing to a hault, and made his way inside of the prison so he could announce the unveiling of the traitorous officer. He and one other officer came with him to arrest the slop that still lay in the alley, snoring, and writhing from the bludgeoned blow in the back of his head.

"Thank you." The words came quick.

She stared at him.

He never spoke much, and it honestly sort of irritated her, for some reason.  
Slowly, he met her eyes, and simply allowed a corner of his mouth to raise to a half-smile. She noticed how it only lasted two seconds, and silently laughed.

"What do you find humorous?" He murmured, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You never say much, and I find that appalling." Then, she added slowly, "The Inspector Javert we are used to, has much to say, and much to provide justice for. You enter debates with a strong voice, and always win, even if you are wrong." She lowered her eyes. "You say nothing to me."

He hesitated. She sounded kind of hurt by her own explanation of him. He narrowed his eyes. She deserved an explanation, this girl that was changing things, deserved at least that.

"I speak very little to you because I am not accustomed to speaking with casual manner," he stated, his voice raising as he told the truth. "You hear me speak of the law for that is all I believed I knew. I have never had relationships or companions." He looked down, sadly. "I am afraid that I will attempt to make casual conversation, and I will only end up insulting you or saying something ridiculous in the doing. I don't want to bore you or convince you even further that I am a stiff wolffish hateful thing."

Eponine stared at him, in slight shock, and also, she felt sympathy. Also, she found that he was somewhat likable, and honest. "You...saved my life."

He hesitated, looking down. She was attempting to reassure him. He slowly raised his eyes to hers.

"Does that make you a stiff, wolffish, hateful thing, Monsieur?" She arched an eyebrow, smiling at him.

He stared at her, then murmured, "Do you honestly believe that I am _not_?"

She hesitated. The Inspector had always been a cold and merciless man, but he had saved her three times. He saved her from taking her own life. No one else did. She showed all the signs of a weary soul, and Inspector Javert had been the one to save her.

It couldn't be, but it was. Eponine had taken a while to adjust to this realization, but she finally concluded that there was something different about Javert. Perhaps, he changed that night at the barricades. Perhaps, he felt guilty. That was why Gavroche wore his medal.

"I believe you are flawed as all men are." She narrowed her eyes. "You've saved my life. There is good in you. I once thought you cruel, but you... protected me." She hesitated. "Whether or not it was your duty, I am living because of you. I didn't want to admit to it at first, but after everything that's happened, not admitting seemed pretty shallow."

He hesitated at this. Her words actually comforted him, he found. Looking down at the floor, he mumbled, "I am still filled with sin. I feel the flames licking at my heels."

Eponine arched an eyebrow. "It is a little warm in here."

"I'm speaking of the flames of Hell." He was suddenly irritated, and when he raised his eyes to glare at her, she was holding back laughter. "Do you find that amusing?" His tone grew cold. Heat rose to his cheeks, like they never had before. He was speaking of something from his soul, something that was tearing him apart- his quest for heaven was turning into a tumble to Hell- and she was giggling like a school girl.

"I assure you that my trouble is nothing to be laughed at."

Eponine smiled, still. "You need to learn to calm yourself, Inspector. All of this talk of Hell. It's bound to upset someone, with all due respect, Inspector."

"_Do not give me an order._"

"It is _advice_, and in the present situation, I am in your debt, which means I should help you." She sensed his anger, and leaned back against her pillow, frowning. "Advice _is_ help."

He hesitated, trying to force himself to respect the 'advice', but he knew what he was. He had lived his entire life incorrectly. He was trying to turn things around, but was it possible? Here he was, becoming angry with her. He still couldn't handle not being in the right, and he wanted to go to his quarters right away and not say a word ever again. That wouldn't get him to God, though.

"Is he dead?"

She spoke of Laughton. She remembered the monster, how he had attacked her in ways that frightened her more than anything else in the world. She clutched the blanket around her, and looked away from Javert.

The weary Inspector looked at her, with a soothing and sudden calmness on his features. As if he did not want to upset her, by growing angrier with the mention of Jack Laughton. He murmured softly, "He is dead."

She breathed heavily. "I wish I could've killed him myself."

He almost said the same thing, but he kept himself shut away, not allowing his personal feelings to become visible to her. He cared for her, in a way he couldn't come to terms with. He gently sighed. "He is no longer your problem."

Eponine looked at him. "Am I going to stay here... and reside with _you_?"

Javert avoided her eyes. He knew people would learn of Eponine's staying in his home. He did not care. She was not bedding him in the long nights. She was not in his arms, in the ways of sinful lust.

He felt his fists clench.

Eponine raised her eyebrows. "I am fine with returning to the streets."

His eyes widened. "_No_." He said it so quickly, that she was taken aback.

It was affirmed that he was not to be reckoned with. However, she couldn't stay here forever. She was sleeping in Javert's home! She might as well be sleeping with him. People were bound to discover that a mysterious girl was staying on Inspector Javert's estate. People were bound to think the worst.

"A girl from the slums...staying in the Inspector's home. Doesn't that strike you as odd?" She murmured, sighing. She felt so groggy. This was good, though. _She was forgetting the way Laughton hurt her._

"They are strange circumstances, but I believe, that, our personal relationship is of the strange, as well." He leaned forward in his chair, and rubbed his forehead for a moment. He continued, "I believe that the streets are no place for you."

Eponine nodded, trying to please him with her agreeing. She thought of Marius, and shrugged him away. "I have no one anyway. There is..." She felt as if she were about to cry for a moment, and he noticed. She continued, with strength, "I have no home."

"This is your home, now." He nodded, kindly, to her, but he spoke with the gentleness of a guardian. "A woman should not live alone about the streets."

"Am I going to dress in fancy dresses?" Eponine laughed at this, imagining herself like she was one of those wealthy, rich girls that pranced about with ribbons in their curls.

Her humor, he found, was oddly refreshing. Javert never laughed, hardly, but he allowed a smile to show- but just for her.

Eponine's giggles ceased and she stared at him, her brown eyes widening a little in fake horror. "Inspector Javert _does_ smile."

He made some grunting noise. It passed for a choked laugh. Hesitantly, he added, "I thought it would amuse you."

Eponine had never felt more herself. "You should smile more often. It brightens a day to smile."

He read her words thoughtfully in his mind for a moment, then murmured, "Over the years, I have found it uncomfortable to speak or make... casual social interaction." He shifted his eyes, almost embarrassed. He might as well write in a diary and let the girl read it. He added, instinctively spilling his train of thought to her, "I find that my words can be harsh and cold. Therefor, I spend more time polishing up statements, and kind remarks, in my head, that it is too late to announce them. However, I have never particularly wished to make social interaction with people. Many times, I attend dinners and balls, but I will not stand for the rowdy dancing." He crookedly smiled to himself. "I don't particularly like people much, and they don't particularly like me."

Eponine looked into the man's eyes, intrigued.

He was such a sad man. How could she never realize that about the inspector? He was incredibly lonely and tired. It made her heart ache. She could feel what he felt. Loneliness was something Eponine knew all too well.

Perhaps, it were best if she changed the topic of their conversation.

Eponine gently smiled, and then hesitated before asking him, "Will I go to balls and dinners?" She arched an eyebrow curiously.

He slowly looked up at her, and softly answered, "Perhaps."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm hardly interested in dancing, truthfully, so that will suffice." All honesty, she hoped she would never attend these dinners. It would be new to her. Those snobs would ask her where she was from, or who her family was.

'_My name is Eponine, and my father is Monsieur Thenardier'. It wouldn't do._

At that moment, a door opened, and in walked Josette, with a pail of water and a towel.

Eponine peered at the doorway, to see two other maids and a servant boy peeking in, whispering, "_Who is she?" _

Eponine found this amusing. They didn't know who she was. She was some mystery woman, now, possibly Javert's love interest. _How hilarious_.

"A damp rag for the sweetheart," Josette kindly said in her elderly voice. She actually pushed Inspector Javert away as if he was a little boy.

He said nothing, Eponine noticed- as if she were his well respected mother or something. She smiled at it. This wasn't new.

Certain people must have brought the best out of the wolfish inspector.

Josette dipped the rag into the pail of warm water, and then gently placed it on Eponine's for forehead. "Here you are, mademoiselle."

Eponine was taken aback. She wasn't used to the luxury of being nursed by a sweet, old woman. She had somewhat adjusted to the fact that she was living in the inspector's home, but nursing kindness was too wonderful.

"Thank you," Eponine whispered, her voice suddenly melting with warmth. She closed her eyes, forgetting that Javert was still in the bedchamber.

"There we are. She needs good rest, Monsieur Javert, dear." Josette said this to the Inspector who stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes zoning out on Eponine's content face.

Eponine was breathing softly. She would sleep again. Only this time, she had a wonderful feeling that she would not have any nightmares.

This was strange, yes, and different. She was living with the Inspector. She had been violated by an officer. Marius was married to Cosette. She almost jumped off of the bridge, but because of the Inspector, she was now curling up in a warm bed- that belonged to Javert, himself. She couldn't leave. She couldn't. Besides, he wouldn't have it. Inspector Javert was keeping her, taking care of her. He obviously cared for her, oddly enough.

Eponine was learning to accept it, though.

_Everything had to happen for a reason_.

Josette stayed by her side as Eponine slept soundly, and watched over her as if she were one of her own, already. Javert stayed by until evening came.  
That was when he threw on his cloak to avoid the chill of the night air, and left the inside of his estate. He slipped through the gate, and walked down the street, making his daily surveillance of the city. He thought of the situation he was in, with this girl. It was strange, and alien to him. There was something, though, deep inside of him, that seemed to give him a sense of worth. It wasn't the worth being an officer gave him, but the worth of a good man.

Inhaling the cool air, Javert made his rounds, and did so almost the entire night. He went to his apartment across from the cathedral, to stand underneath the stars. Only, he found being so close to the edge troubling, and, before the night was over, he had returned to his home.

The sun was rising as he reached the gates, and along with the sunrise, Eponine had risen, too. He saw her standing on the balcony. She was wrapped in quilts, and her eyes were closed. Her dark, brown hair rustled about her, as she leaned against the edge.

All he could do was stare at her.

She was curiously beautiful. She was wounded, but there was this strength that shone from within her soul. It was a bright and vital strength that made her stand so proudly. Sleep had done her good since that terrible night. Rest, perhaps, had given her a strange glow.

He felt his knees actually weaken.

Javert narrowed his eyes, and sidled against the tall wall that surrounded his house. He hid behind a tall bush where she could not see him. He clutched his chest.

"God, what is the meaning of this?"

Eponine. This beautiful girl from the slums was here in his home, and she would stay for possibly years, even. These strange circumstances, he found them overwhelming. He was a man of authority, though. He couldn't let this bother him.

_Yet... He was allowing this girl to alter him_. _Just this unique girl that touched his soul in ways he could hardly comprehend._

He slowly peered around the bush, to see that Eponine was slowly leaving the balcony to return to her new room.

"Is she from heaven or from hell?" He rubbed his forehead.

Then, he remembered how he spoke to her, of things and feelings he wouldn't share with anyone else. He knew her presence enlightened him and troubled him. They were the same, but she was better- far better than he realized.

Javert stared up at the empty balcony, and took a deep, long breath.

"My heart is stone," he murmured, "and, still it trembles."

_Because of her._

* * *

**There were so many references made in this, that I- ha,ha- I can't even- haha. Hey, but if you're a fan of Russell Crowe, there is a wonderful movie called 'A Beautiful Mind'. I made a reference to that. Woo-hoo. I hope y'all like this story. I know it's moving quite slow, but it'll get there. :)**


	9. Chapter IX: Brewing Storm

CHAPTER NINE

A month had passed.

Eponine ran a hand through her bangs, making them fluff out a little. Her hazel eyes looked upwards at them, and stuck out her bottom lip and blew some air. Her breath tossed up her hair a little, and she sighed, lowering her eyes to her reflection in the mirror.

_Eponine, Eponine, look at YOU_.

She halfway smiled at herself. It was kind of wistful, but it was a work in pure progress.

Her long brunette hair had been tamed. Actually, it was tamed by Josette almost every morning. She either pulled it into this elegant bun, or pulled the top half of it back with some black pins that she had recently purchased at a small shop around the corner.

Eponine had actually gone with her, clad in a dark green dress, with her hair pulled up with ribbon.

It was a strange transition.

Eponine's skin was smooth, free of dirt and bumps. She wore white gloves, and that satin, green gown with puffy sleeves, with a huge white ribbon tied around her waist. With her hair in a bun, her smooth neck was elongated, and her hazel eyes were brightened and even admired by some wealthy girls who passed by her on the street.

Needless to say, some people in the park noticed Eponine walking out of the mansion of Inspector Javert. There were questions.

"Who is that girl staying in Inspector Javert's place?"

"Is it his niece?"

"A cousin from far away?"

"Perhaps," the more daring would say, "she is a mistress of Monsieur Javert?" and people don't know wether to laugh and chortle or gawk in utter astonishment. The idea of Inspector Javert bedding with a young woman was too wild. The idea of the Inspector performing an act of 'love' was even odd. Even Jerome, a servant boy who worked with Josette- who thought that Monsieur Inspector was only performing an act of charity- was, needless to say, surprised.

Eponine, most of all, was intrigued, still- even though Javert had somewhat, with uneasiness, explained his reasons for looking so closely after her.  
She rolled her eyes. This was more than just 'looking after'. She was LIVING with him, in his home, behind his gates. She stood on HIS balcony every morning, and, sometimes, she was the first one he saw in the mornings.

This sounded like something that could easily be taken out of context.

Eponine narrowed her eyes. She meant that when he came in from his nocturnal patrol like a phantom, he often saw her standing on the balcony. She noticed that he never particularly looked up at where she stood, but she assumed so. She could feel his eyes, as she could for years, on the streets.  
He was a criminal snatcher, determined, and unstoppable. He was a force of nature. Unchangable. Inevitable.

She stared at herself in the mirror, scrubbed clean and so... fair looking- like how she imagined maidens to look, from poems that one of the barricade boys always read out loud. Her hair looked enlightened and it shined.

_Was it possible to stop a force of nature?_

The plain white dress she wore, now, with the dark blue satin ribbon tied around her waist, made her feel strange. She felt as if she had been wearing these nice dresses for years. It was true that her mother once dressed her in fine clothing, but that came to a halt as she hit her teenage years. That was when her father turned her into one of the con-artists, distractions in greedy plots, a thief. She had also been forced to flirt with men. Never once had she bedded with one. That was something she had always thanked the Lord for.  
It was a seemingly pleasant transition. Only, beneath Eponine's new and glossy surface, intrigue for this odd Inspector continued to vex her.

"There is a storm brewing," Josette told Eponine, as she casually walked into her bedchamber. She gave one thoughtful glance to the young woman, before making her bed. "Is that why you look so vexed?"

Eponine couldn't help but smile gently at the old woman. "Do I _look_ vexed?"

Josette somewhat scowled at the girl, then smiled wistfully. "I have daughters of my own, Mademoiselle. I know, too, when they are worried." And she had already finished her business with the bed and she drew towards Eponine. Her weak frame made her waddle a little.

Eponine began to wonder how long Josette had worked for Inspector Javert. Her questions disappeared as the kind old maid gently placed a strand of hair behind Eponine's warm ear.

"I know what troubles you, dear."

Eponine lightly laughed. "Storms do not frighten me. Don't worry about _me_, madam."

Josette leaned close to Eponine, looking her eyes in the mirror. "I do not mean storms, little darling."

Eponine's lit up with realization. She met Josette's wrinkle-surrounded eyes in the mirror.

It's not that Eponine thought that Josette was dumb. She merely thought that the woman was older, and she had been blunt to many things. It HAD been a month, and, yet, Josette had not said a word. Perhaps, it was because Eponine had hardly spoken. Eponine hardly even understood herself. She hadn't tried to escape yet. There was no point in it. She was better off in the wolf den, rather than out on the streets. She was disowned and looked upon as pathetic. It was far too embarrassing.

Eponine stayed within the inspector's home, because there was no other place to go. She made no protest against it, and even Javert was a rare sight. Very rare. He truly did devote himself to the patrol.

"You are thinking of the Inspector." Josette turned to where she was looking Eponine in the eyes, and not the mirror.

Eponine's smile had quickly faded away. Maybe Josette knew Javert's mind well. "Do you know what he's doing?" The words spilled out. It was as if her thoughts were going to start flowing out in ravenous, loud words. She narrowed her eyes, but kept them locked on Josette's. "What does he plan to do? Keep me here for years? The inspector does not speak with me, and it's been days, Josette." Eponine deeply sighed. "I wish he would acknowledge me."

Eponine surprised herself. She said that she WISHED that the Inspector would acknowledge him.

These _were_ strange circumstances.

Josette shook her head, smiling, and softly patted the back of Eponine's head. "You know that the Monsieur Javert is a troubled man. He has lived a hard life, and I will not use that as an excuse for him-" and she squeezed Eponine's shoulder before continuing.

Eponine thought of all the starving people Javert had thrown in prison, young boys like Gavroche, who were jerked by their collars, and tossed to the ground by his gloved hands.

"However," Josette murmured, sighing tenderly, "I see him, now, and see that he is changing. Not because he's growing older and older, but because his heart is changing. It's getting better." And she smiled at Eponine, with wisdom that the girl didn't know she was capable of. "He has good intentions. You need to relax and calm yourself. The Inspector will be her early this evening for dinner. I sent Phillipe for him. You will dine with him, and you may acknowledge him there."

Eponine suddenly felt her stomach tighten, as if the idea made her nervous.  
_Dinner with Javert_. They had not eaten together once in the whole entire month. This would be her first time to eat a proper dinner with the inspector himself.

Even though she was acquainted to the new side of Javert, the idea of being in casual situations with him was still odd to Eponine.

She wanted it, though. She wanted to see him, to _speak_ to him. She wanted to know more about him, and more about her situation of living.

He was no wolf- at least not to Eponine, and especially not to Josette.

Eponine was only wondering if he was simply disguised as a shepherd. _What if he wasn't trying to change? What if he was just being deceitful? What if she were a way to get to her mother and father? What if she was being used? _

Eponine's frown went unnoticed by Josette who had left the room. Eponine didn't notice the necklace Josette left on the bed for her to wear, the necklace that belonged to Inspector Javert's mother.


	10. Chapter X: Goodbye

CHAPTER TEN

"Wine?"

Jerome entered the room with the glistening red bottle, his eyebrows raised, patiently waiting for Javert to respond. Even after two years of serving on the Inspector's estate, the young boy was still intimidated by Javert. He stood as straight as a board, and did not meet the man's eyes.

"_No_. Return in a quarter of the hour," Javert mumbled, as he straightened his shoulders, and pushed his firm back against the dining room chair. "Mademoiselle Eponine may be in want of it, whenever she decides to join me, against her stubbornness." He narrowed his eyes, and forgot all fine posture, to lean forward, and lean his cheek on one of his clenched fists.

Jerome hesitated. He had never thought ill of the Inspector, but he did suspect that the stern man was in a pout, like a small boy, or an old, married man, impatient of his wife.

_That was an idea_, Jerome thought to himself. _The Inspector being stood up by his own lady. _Then, he pushed on through the door, leaving the Inspector in the dim dining room alone.

Javert could hide out all day long, in order to catch a criminal. However, he couldn't stand sitting in the dining room all evening, to have dinner with the _dear Mademoiselle Eponine._

He scoffed, and furrowed his brow.

Perhaps, he deserved it. He hadn't spoken to her for days, since he brought her in. He avoided her. He avoided her because she was making him...feel things that he didn't particularly know how to take care of.

A door opened. In, she walked.

He could hear the skirts of her dress rustling a little, and almost a weary sigh. He peered up from his hands.

Eponine was standing at the table. Her eyes shifted towards him, and, abruptly, he stood up, hitting his knee on the table in the doing. He acted like it hadn't happened, but not responding to the sudden jerk of pain in his leg.  
Eponine ignored it, _just like he had ignored her all of the month._

Scowling the floor, she sat down, and decided not to look at him.

He stared at her. He didn't even ask her how her day had gone. He didn't ask her if she was hungry. He was tired of not speaking to her, and not understanding her feminine emotions. He was tired of being a fool, and avoiding her. He cut to the chase.

"You're angry with me," he murmured.

She hesitated before replying sternly with, "Yes, Inspector."

He took a moment. He unclenched his fists, and said to her, in a voice that was surprisingly soft, "I am not ignorant of your reasonings."

She still did not meet his eyes. "And do you think my reasonings are stupid?"

"No, I do not."

This surprised her. He was actually going to admit his faults. He had been doing this a lot of late, hadn't he?

He continued, staring at the table, and not at her, "I am aware that I have ignored you for days since you've been here. I am apologetic of it, and not ignorant. I am also aware of the consequences. I see that you will most likely refuse to eat, and, perhaps, choose to leave the table as soon as speaking is finished." He paused, then slightly smirked. "You refuse to look me in the eyes. I assure you, that it is... cruel punishment...indeed."

Eponine stood up from the table, locking her eyes onto his. He sounded so filled with emotion. _Why did he say that_? "Do not mock me."

She sounded so unsure of what she was saying. He watched her for a moment, narrowing his eyes. There was some kind of look on her face. She looked so emotional. She looked so invested in this, this scene that was taking place in between them.

"Inspector Javert...?" And she gasped, covering her mouth. Her eyes darted away from his face, and she murmured, "Why do I feel so...much when you're nearby?" It was a question to herself. She felt her cheeks burn. "It's because I'm so angry..." She answered herself, too, he noted.

He started to joke about taking her to an asylum, but it would be unnecessary, in every way.

He heard the emotion shaking her voice. He watched her as she put her hands on her hips abruptly.

"What do you want me to do?" He meant it in a kind way- like he had never meant before. He never asked out of generosity. It wasn't his duty to be kind. This was out of the way. He could see the slight surprise on her face. He stood firm in what he wanted, though, and that was to make certain that she was comfortable and satisfied.

He wouldn't want that for anyone else, and most definitely not himself.

Eponine hesitated. His voice... He sounded _kind_. She felt herself soften towards him. He _had_ saved her life, and given her a place to live. She had to tell him the truth.

She looked at him from across the table. She hadn't answered him yet, so he stood there, looking down at the table, defeated, yet strong.

That was how he always looked, she thought to herself.

He was wearing his uniform still. His hands were bare from white or black gloves. His cool gray eyes looked up at her, and she deeply sighed.

She sighed. He heard. _Why did she sigh? _He found her eyes. He beckoned them to look back, as intensely as his were.

Eponine looked at his eyes, drawn in by some mystery. He was a mystery. She was once so fearful of this man, but, now, she wanted to be close to him.

"I only want you to talk to me," she mumbled, sincerely. She said it like she was admitting something that made her ache. "I'm not... a fancy vase to be kept locked away, just to be looked at." She gulped once. "You took me in. I'm living in YOUR home, Inspector. You saved my life more than once. I once thought you were a monster, and, now, I know you're not." She sighed, leaning back in the seat, pulling uncomfortably on the ends of her dress sleeves. "What I mean is, I want to know more about you. I want to know who you are and what you like to do for the sake of fun. There's apparently more to you than I ever suspected, Monsieur. You've obviously taken a liking to me, and- I would even venture to let you get to know me further."

He still stood, his eyes locked on her face.

She was uneasy, he knew. Her face had an odd blush to her cheeks, and her eyebrows nearly pulled together as if the words she were saying were spilling out, and she had no way of controlling them.

What she said._ 'I would even venture to let you get to know me further'. _  
He listened further. Inwardly, he was surprised. He was surprised that she actually wished to speak with him. It critically surprised him that she was _upset_ by _his_ absence.

"We are in an odd situation, Monsieur. Never before did I imagine that I would be living in Inspector Javert's home." She finally let her eyes move to his. "You are gracious. It's astounding, with all due respect."

Her eyes were so captivating. He stared at them, admiring the curl of her dark black eyelashes. Never had he realized how..._nice_ her features were. He found it slightly pleasant, looking at her. Then, he remembered what she spoke, and he pulled himself, embarassed, from staring at her as if she were something to purchase and devour. "I am not gracious. The law has never allowed me to be merciful."

"You were merciful to _me_." And she stared into his eyes, forcing him to accept this fact.

It was true. He did not understand what actions he took, anymore. He hadn't arrested anyone since he took Eponine in.

"Would you like to become... my friend, or am I simply a wretch you saved for the love of God?"

Her voice was slightly desperate, and he knew that she truly wanted to know. Not even she had wrapped her mind around the circumstances. She was right. He wanted her for a companion. He had never wanted that before, from anymore. He never confided in men, and, obviously, not women.

Eponine was some rare case. Only there was more than a want for friendship. She was attracted to her, both mentally and physically.

"That's it, isn't it, Inspector? Am I the pitiful wretch who fell from grace? Are you hoping to raise me up again? Am I a charity case, Inspector?" She stared at him, impatiently wanting to know.

He still stood, his eyes lowered on hers. Then, he leaned forward, not leaving her face.

"If you truly want to know: you seem to misunderstand. It is the other way around."

Eponine stared at him for a moment, her heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

"I am the pitiful wretch who has fallen from grace," and at this, he narrowednhis grayish green eyes. "It is you who has saved me."

Eponine could say nothing. She had not expected him to say that. She stared at him, and, for a fleeting moment, her heart felt something close to how she felt when she used to see Marius smile at her. She raised her eyebrows, showing surprise.

Javert looked her in the eyes, breathing heavily, as if saying something so heartfelt had worn him of energy.

She felt sorry so suddenly for thinking badly of him. He really was changing... and it was because of _her_. She shifted her eyes, in slight shame, for causing such a commotion. However, she _had_ received her answer, and she finally sank down in her chair.

Javert could do nothing but watch her sink into the chair. As she did, he became more distracted by her appearance, rather than the conversation that had occurred.

She was wearing a white dress, with a satin blue ribbon tied around her small, petite waist. Her tan skin seemed to glow, and, with her hair pulled away from her face, her eyes brightened. He noticed how they reminded him of rich chocolate, a delicacy. She turned her face to the side, and he noticed how her hair curled down her back.

That was when he saw it.

"_Where_...did you get that?"

Admiring her looks came to an end for Javert. Eponine heard this tremor of anger in his voice, and turned to look at him, eyes widened.

"What?" She murmured, uneasily.

"That necklace." He pointed to the long pearl necklace around her elegant neck. He narrowed his haunting eyes, and rolled his hands into fists.

Eponine slowly, nervously, reached for the ring of pearls, her eyes locked on his face, which had so suddenly contorted with anger and hatred. It broke her heart. It was how he looked when he dealt with criminals.

Her cheeks grew flushed. "Josette lent it to me. _Why_?"

Javert clutched at the table cloth, glaring at the piece of jewelry. Then,_ in two quick strides_, he was by her side, and, he reached his hand for the pearls, forgetting who wore them.

Eponine gasped, and, by defensive instinct, grabbed his hand. For half a second, he struggled, then, he made contact with her eyes, and he stopped.  
She was looking at him, like a thing ready to attack- as if she had launched herself into defense against a predator.

He felt himself grow cold, and he forced himself not to look at his mother's necklace around her neck.

Eponine was still grasping his hand. He looked down at her fingers clutching his wrist. She was using both of her hands for his one, large hand. His eyes slipped from hers, down to them. Something about the way she grasped his hands made him want to pull away, but he couldn't. He didn't want to, in truth. Her hands were fragile and warm. His felt cold. He heard her take a deep breath, and his eyes met hers once again.

"Forgive me," he trembled.

"What is it?" Eponine narrows her eyes, with concern.

He hesitated. "Those were my mother's pearls."

_Oh, God, oh, God._ Eponine gasped, and began to pull them off. "I am so sorry, Inspector! I did not know! Josette just left them on my bed!" She looked up at his non-emotional face, and felt her heart sink. "I wouldn't have touched them if I had known."

He started to shake his head. "She assumed they were some gift to you, I'm sure."

Eponine stared at his face, her stomach churning. "I really am sorry."

Javert took a deep breath. "It is not your fault, but Josette's. She is elderly. That is her excuse." His eyes dropped the pearls once more, and he turned to leave.

He turned to LEAVE. Eponine gawked at him.

"Are you going away again? And not speak to me for _another_ month, Inspector?"

He hesitated, stopping before the dining room door. She was bitter by this. He turned to look at her, curiously.

She had risen from her chair, and was staring at him. "Do I upset you so badly that you ignore me for days on end?"

He gulped. He hadn't expected anyone to ever call his actions into question.

Her bottom lip seemed to quiver. In a haste, she pulled off the pearl necklace, and sat it on the table. Then, swishing her skirts, she advanced towards him. He watched her. She glared up at him.

"Don't look at me that way," he hissed.

"What? Like this?" And she rolled her eyes.

He began to scowl her, but, once again, he was taken aback by her spark.  
"Your disdain intrigues me," he murmured. He looked her up and down. Her cheeks were flushed.

Eponine gawked at him. _Why did he have to talk the way he did? _He was using intelligent words, as if to cover up his feelings.

"If that is all that intrigues you, I am leaving tonight!" And when she yelled the words, she shoved him.

It was enough strength to make him rock back on his heels._ It was enough_.  
_It was enough_, he thought, bitterly, as he grabbed her elbows and jerked her forward. "You will find that I will not be so kind if you carry on like a wild animal."

Her face was inches away from his. Her heart raced, as well as his.  
In his head, he knew that this was wrong, and he shouldn't be treating her like this, but there was that dominant, merciless part of him- the part of him that wanted her behind bars, the day she stole that damn, stupid tomato.  
But he didn't put her behind bars, because...

"And, obviously, you know that I will not carry on here!" She shouted in his face. "You don't even want to speak to me!"

This time, Eponine blushed for a different reason.

Javert stared at her for a moment. He watched her rich brown eyes lower to the floor, then he followed her neck down to... her chest which was lightly rising and falling with each angry breath. Her face was perplexed, but she resembled some innocent angel battling sins.

"I am going to go say goodbye to Josette," she murmured, her eyes raising to his slowly.

His chest began to ache as she said it.

"I am leaving."

For a moment, her eyes lingered on him.

Javert continued to stare at her, his chin slightly raised. She looked at him, and, curtly, he looked away.

_That will be enough, then_, Eponine thought wearily to herself.


	11. Chapter XI: Unintended Company

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Josette waddled past him. He grabbed her arm, but was gentle for the inspector knew she was old. However, he was tense, and _frustrated_.

"Josette," he murmured, looking up the wide staircase. The hallway that led to Eponine lay ahead. Her room was the last room to the right. His was at the end to the left.

He hardly slept in his room, but, _now_, he knew he would. The constant evasion of this young woman would end. He was assured, now, that Eponine Thenardier particularly wanted his attention, for what reason he did not know.

And he would give it to her. He had waited and fooled around way too long, trying to avoid these feelings he had for her. It was more than mere admiration. He was compelled by her, and prayed that she may feel the same way. He denied it, though.

_Who could ever... wish to have him as a partner, a friend, or husband?_

"She's made up her mind, Monsieur," Josette sighed, but she shook her head. "Poor child is lonely that is all." She sounded sorrowful.

Javert narrowed his eyes, but Josette found that there was this warmth there on his weathered face. "Tell Jerome to start the fireplace."

Josette found this pleasant, after a moment of thinking. When she realized that this must have been a good thing, for Javert was rarely this warm, she smiled up at him- her little, wrinkles face glowing happily. "I will make hot tea, my boy." And, tenderly, she reached her hand up and patted his cheek.

Javert arched an eyebrow at the old woman's unfailing matronly characteristics, and briefly recounted his own gypsy mother. After shortly imagining the sound of an infant's wails echoing throughout a prison, he began to walk up the staircase, determined to keep Eponine with him.

_The way she had shoved him away_.

He inhaled sharply through his nostrils.

_The way that, for a quick moment, he almost snatched her up, and cuffed her wrists. _However, he had _not_, and not because he didn't have the iron cuffs on him, but because, a flame had stirred within some lower part of him that weakened him. _And her eyes._

He gulped.

Her eyes had pierced him like a blade to the heart- of what black heart he possessed- and he narrowed his eyes yet lifted his chin, with a facade of pride, at the self-loathing thought.

He could hear his black boots hit the marble floor, and he walked down the narrow hall, his silver-emerald eyes focused on the dark blue door.

No pictures framed the hallway walls. Nothing at all. There was only a window to look outside, and from the window, one could peer at the balcony that sat outside of Eponine's chambers. To the left, one could also see the balcony that sat outside Javert's chambers.

There was a cluttering sound from her room.

Javert drastically increased his pace, and threw open the door to her room to see her ravaging a dresser full of her new clothes. She was sifting through layers of lace and satin and silk gowns, and moaning wearily.

He watched her, and folded his arms across his chest, amused by her ravaging. His arrogance kicked in. "You do not plan to leave anytime soon, do you, Mademoiselle?"

She continued to browse savagely, then slowly turned to see him standing there, to glare intensely at the man who saved her from suicide.

"There are streets to patrol, Monsieur." She arched an eyebrow. "Is that not what you absolutely love to do?"

"It is my duty."

She rolled her eyes, and turned away from him.

He scowled her. "I protect the law."

"It is not worth any time to even try to explain the problem," Eponine mumbled, and her hands stopped sifting through dresses, for her old clothes. She sat in front of the dresses, her white dress a heap around her on the floor. Her long brown hair had become unpinned and her hands held her arms, as if in distress.

"You are upset because I give you _no_ attention?" He said it slowly, uncertain of himself.

_After all, who would be upset by his absence in social life, honestly?_ But he wanted to know.

Eponine knew that the truth would change things between them. He was a good man, deep inside, and he found her likable. He was also attractive. Once, she would have cringed at the thought of Inspector Javert. She saw him, now, as a tall man with broad shoulders. He had an appropriately set jaw, and a stern face that gave off an intimidating air, but, in his eyes, she could only see two stormy and misty seas of sadness and loneliness. He was more of a lion, then a wolf- for, now, she found him more righteous than he once was.

Eponine turned to look at him, now. He stood in the doorway, looking at the balcony doors with those stormy eyes. She was thankful that he looked elsewhere for she allowed her curious eyes to look his tall body up and down. He was still clad in his uniform, with his hair pulled away from his face. She saw some gray strands, but it only made him look incredibly distinguished. He stood tall and with dignity that had become permanent in his officer's posture. His broad shoulders. That thick throat. Those strong legs that chased and even hunted. He was a determined man, and strong. He was also a bully, a great ass, for many years of her life where he patrolled the streets, but there was something she found admirable. He was conniving.

She felt heat rising to her skin.

She suddenly was reminded of the talks Azelma gave her about men- about... She remembered discussions on wedding nights and the breaking of maidenheads.

For a moment, as she looked at Javert, she wondered what it would be like to be broken in by him- the Inspector.

_Oh, God_, Eponine was blushing hard.

Then, she remembered the question he had asked, and she thought again. If she were to say 'no', that would be all, and it would simply and purely be a lie. She could tell him the truth, and this would most likely guarantee that the two would be together more often.

Eponine found the idea... admirable, and, slowly, meeting his eyes that now looked upon her, she replied, "Yes."

Javert could say nothing. She looked up at him, innocently, and he felt as if his heart was pounding from his chest.

Then, finally, he managed to ask, "You will remain here, with Inspector Javert, himself?"

Eponine smirked at the pile of dresses that had rolled out of the dresser, then she looked back at Javert. "Yes. Yes, I believe I will."

* * *

"What have I done?" Eponine stared at the open doorway where Javert had just left. He would wait for her downstairs in the drawing room. She had said _'yes_' and that guaranteed some sort of relationship with Javert.

_What was so wrong with this?_ She kept asking herself, _He saved your life_. _You have to get over the whole 'Inspector' title. You have to accept the fact that: Yes, he is Inspector Javert, a man that she once labeled as repulsive, frightening, intimidating, and unattractive_. However, he was changing her mind, and she seemed to be changing his. She had to give him a chance. Look at all he was doing for her. It wasn't just astounding and shocking. It was also a very thoughtful thing to do for someone like her.

_It wasn't as simple as that, though_.

She found him handsome. Very handsome. There was this rugged yet clean way about him. She always had this secret love for clean clothes- that included uniforms. She repelled officers, but, on Javert, it had become a different story.

She would never let him know. Besides, she knew that her liking of him wouldn't extend much further, not like for _Marius_- even though she hadn't thought of Marius since the Inspector had taken her in.

_What would he think if he knew she were here? Did he know?_

She knew what her father would think. He would think that she was getting it in with the Inspector every night.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she slowly stood up from the pile of dresses to join Inspector Javert downstairs.

She stepped down the wide staircase, her feet clicking against the marble steps. Her hand slid along the cold banister. It was a feeling she had begun to relish over the past month. She had never stayed in a place so fine before. There were times she could have stayed in Marius' home, but she never could. The fact that Cosette and he slept in a room together, not far from her, made her stomach ache.

Josette was waddling out of the drawing room as Eponine approached it. She smiled a funny smile, and walked past her with an empty tray. Eponine took a deep breath, and walked into the room.

He was leaning against the fireplace. He was staring into the flames. The room was lit up alone by its red and yellow embers, like the colors of a sunset. His shadow stood on the floor, a black shape, lonely.

She started to announce herself, but he seemed to be whispering to himself, as if he were saying a quick prayer. She didn't want to eavesdrop, yet she didn't to interrupt him, but she murmured, in spite of it all, "_Monsieur?"_

He turned to her, with a sharp gasp that was more of a violent intake of air through his nostrils. He started to glare at her, but he remembered himself, and he remembered who _she_ was- and the hold she held over him, as much as he hated to admit that power of hers. He simply nodded curtly at her.

She narrowed her eyes. "I didn't mean to interrupt... or anything."

"It's nothing," he quickly replied, not looking her in the eye. "I'm not accustomed to company, or the idea of it."

"I've been here for a while," and she laughed when she said it.

"_And you're still here_." He said it thoughtfully to himself, because it surprised him. He turned his head slightly to see of she was still standing there, in all of her helpless, fiery beauty.

A lock of brown hair fell into her eyes as she looked down at the cold floor. "_I am still here._"

He hesitated, smiling slightly. "Sit down...please." He gestured to a comfortable, cushioned chair a couple of feet behind him.

"Oh," she murmured, stepping towards it. "It looks wonderful."

He arched an eyebrow. "The chair?"

Unlike a lady, Eponine plopped down into the chair, and sighed dreamily. "Street rats never sit in chairs like this, Inspector Javert." She wanted to laugh again, using his name so lightly.

He made a murmuring noise with his throat, as a laugh. "I hardly sit."

She made the same noise with her throat as a laugh. "I know."

He nodded, and added, without thinking, "and your _bed_?"

Eponine was playing with a piece of her hair, when she looked at the back of him with wide eyes. "My bed?"

He hesitated, then realized the meaning that could be derived from his words. _Her bed_. "I mean- it suits you? Do you sleep well?"

She understood, and smiled. "Oh, yes. It's wonderful."

He repeated her, hiding his smile. "Wonderful."

There was a silence, before she asked him, jokingly, "Are you going to tell me that you hardly sleep either?" And they both laughed lightly at this.

Well, he didn't laugh. He rather smiled, instead. "I do not, either. Sometimes, when you were asleep, I would come into your room, to see if you were well, and you would look very content. You sometimes fight in your slumber. There was nothing I could do, but be thankful that you appreciated the bed the remainder of the time." He arched an eyebrow, and turned to look at her. "It pleases me to know that I can make at least one Parisian happy."

Eponine simply looked at him lovingly after he had said this. He was a protector.

"You are happy, aren't you?" Worry clouded his strong voice.

Eponine was eager to assure him. "Yes. I am still new to these circumstances, but you're not too bad once you get to know you." She forced a nervous laugh, but Javert only smiled at her. "Obviously, you are fine with me."

_No, I am not_, he thought, narrowing his eyes suddenly. _He was not okay with the fact that he had feelings for her, this girl that he could have arrested easily, beyond his control_. But, he knew what she meant, and when he turned his body to acknowledge her, sitting in his chair, he told her, "I suppose so. In spite of your previous criminal background, I believe that you hold my attention."

_Criminal_. _Criminal background_. Eponine straightened her posture, and suddenly felt overshadowed by the big and bad Inspector, once again. _Where did this come from? He was being nice and all, and, now, he said something so arrogant. _

"In _spite_ of?" She echoed, bitterly. "Previous criminal background?"

Javert nearly left the room. _What had he done? Javert, you have a pension for being an awkward and wise ass._ He raised a hand to rub his forehead in slight distress at his communication mishap. He had insulted her, made himself look like a brute. He _was_ a brute, and he was trying to be kind and gentle. He just blew his cover, and whatever chance he was to have with Eponine.

If he said her name, would she feel better? Or would she get angry with him. Someone really dramatic would be offended by his usage of their name, but Eponine wasn't particularly into dramatics. _Well, given her display in the in the dining room, it could be that she was._

"That was a foolish thing to say, I'm sorry," he told her, hesitantly stepping towards her.

"No. I don't forgive you," she said it so precisely, and when she said it, she turned her head away from his direction.

The flames danced on her face. They played around her eyes.

"Very well." He smirked. "There's nothing I could do to change your mind?"

"No." She rolled her eyes. "If this is your idea of good company, you are highly mistaken."

"You're well read." This was something he had noted about her from the start, once he had spoken to her the first time she had tried taking her own life.

She took it as an insult. "Does that surprise you?"

He glared at her, stepping towards her more. "It is a compliment."

"I didn't know you knew how to compliment," Eponine murmured, gripping the arms of the chair.

"Is this the way we shall speak to one another from now on?"

Eponine didn't know how to respond. He was confusing. _He saves her life. He is overly generous. Then he turns into the pompous ass he was before. Not only was he this stern Inspector, but, now, he was legitimately insane._

"I will learn how to speak. I will stop saying things that hurt your feelings."  
Eponine slowly raised her eyes from his large, black shadow to his face, which was dark for it was hid from the fireplace flames. She looked at him, and watched as his silver eyes flickered to hers, thoughtfully.

"The last thing I wish to do is hurt you." When he said it, he meant it, and she could tell.

"Believe me, Monsieur. I have been hurt many times before." _The barricade. Her mother. Her father. The abandonment. Marius_. She knew hurt very well.

"A little fall of rain can _hardly_ hurt me, now," and Javert noticed how when she laughed at this, she winced as if it gave her bad memories.

_It was something Azelma used to say. When it was a bad day, and the horrible things kept on piling up- and you just become numb- she would say, "What harm can a little rain do to me, now?"_

Eponine lightly sighed. _How could she be any more hurt?_

This was the loneliness he reflected. This was the mirror image of himself he did not want to see. In that moment, he was close to reaching out his hand to touch hers.

He had never done so in all of his life, except for that of a small, dead boy, at the barricades.

Then, she saw his hand, and sharply raised her head to look up at him.

"I am tired," she said it quickly.

He hesitated. "Yes?"

"I- I must excuse myself, Javert- I mean-" her eyes widened a little. She stared at him, her stomach tight. "I meant 'Monsieur'...or 'Inspector'."

He couldn't help it. He grinned at her, as she stumbled over words. He had no issue with calling her 'Eponine'.

"I'm sorry. I'll go upstairs, now," and she stood up from the chair. She moved past him, their shoulders touched briefly. He looked over his shoulder to watch her go.

She moved wonderfully. He saw how her hips swayed from side to side, and the room seemed to get hotter. He suddenly lunged forward, and grabbed her elbow.

She turned around, and gasped.

For a moment, they were both two territorial creatures, but then their features softened as they stared into each others eyes.

She was so used to being grabbed by officers like him. He was so used to grabbing slum life like her.

However, she saw a softness in his eyes, and a sadness that honestly made her want to reach out to him.

"You will call me Javert."

"Then, call me Eponine." The worlds tumbled past her dark lips.

This intensely pleased him. "Tomorrow morning, once you rise, I will be waiting for you here. I promise that however I have wronged you, and for the past month that I have not been here for you, I will gladly make up for it."

Without a thought, he raised her hand and pressed it tenderly against his lips.

"Goodnight." Eponine's heart skipped a beat.

Her hand was barely leaving his mouth, when his eyes lifted to hers, and he said, sternly, "Goodnight... _Eponine_."

Eponine left the room quickly and jogged up the stairs, her heart pounding. She paced to her bedroom at the end of the hall, threw the door open, closed it, then ran and collapsed on her large bed.

After replaying the scenes of tonight in her head, she started to fall asleep. Most importantly, she remembered the way he kissed her hand, and the way he said her name- gently, cautiously. Her name had always been used without care or thought many times before. _He_ said her name _delicately_.

_Why_? She questioned everything, and argued over every answer she could think of.

Most of all, she argued with her heart, which was unfortunately staring to fall for the Inspector, who still stood in the parlor room, with his hand held out in front of him- the hand that had held hers.

These were strange circumstances, indeed. The feelings that raced through their bodies, around their minds, and to their souls, were all, most certainly, unintended company.


	12. Chapter XII: Daydream Disturbance

CHAPTER TWELVE

It is true that Javert was not a heavy sleeper. In fact, he was hardly a light sleeper. Truthfully, and, unfortunately, he was hardly a sleeper at all. He spent his nights focused on streets and alleyways. He kept his eyes on suspicious people that moved about in a sly manner, and he would follow them, with his hand gripping his bat- the one he had bludgeoned Laughton with that one, terrible night.

Tonight wasn't terrible to any normal human being, but, to _him_, it was. That cool sense of heart to him was a slow burn. He sat in his library, at his mahogany desk, staring into space, only thinking of the girl that was changing his heart, his soul, and his mind. His hands were curled into tight fists, and his dark eyebrows were narrowed, forming the most 'deep in thought' look one could ever imagine. His features were a mixture of confusion and relief.

Confusion because this was not supposed to happen to him. It simply wasn't. This was not supposed to occur in his life, and if it was, it had come so late. He had never allowed himself to feel this way for any human being on the face of the earth, yet here she was. It was frustrating. That showed him how troubled he truly was, how backwards, he was as a man, and as a human. To be frustrated by the admiration of a woman.

Relief because it could be that she returned his admiration.

_That was every man's dream, wasn't it?_ To hold her attention and to know that, in spite of flaws and disappointing characteristics, someone beautiful truly wanted him to see her, to hear her, and to acknowledge her.

He narrowed his eyes. He began to venture into stranger thoughts.

_Could it ever be that this admiration would extend further into something much more frightening, and foreboding._

_It wasn't even foreboding! _He mentally punched himself, and groaned out loud.

This was truly good. He had even laid his lips upon her hand this night. He had done so, and hadn't given it a bad thought. It was good for him.

If he knew he was in the wrong before, he knew he had to be, now. He had to face the concept that he was wrong about this situation, as well.

These feelings were for the greater good.

_Were they? _Every man in the history of the world had fallen for a woman. Every man was attracted to the call of a siren. Never had Javert seen himself as one of these unfortunate men. Perhaps, it was not fortunate to feel the touch of a woman, to the heart, to the body.

Javert felt his skin grow hot. He had never blushed before.

He avoided the idea of intimacy since he was a young man. He thought of it, and, as all men do, there were physical situations of a more personal nature that occurred upon his tempted body at the thought of entering that physical bond that only a married man and woman would enter.

_Eponine_. Her fiery body would be petite yet full from being well fed in his house. He imagined her dark hair sprawled out on his pillow. His heart began to race as he saw her bare feet, then her creamy-fair skinned calves, then her knees. He saw a pair of smooth thighs.

Javert looked up out of space, and quickly jerked himself out of this day dream.

Then, before he could stop himself, he saw her breast, glimmering in the moonlight. He saw them lying on her chest, with her rosy nipples budded from the sensation of chill air. Suddenly, his thick fingers were roughly running up from her smooth stomach, to her round, supple breasts.

Javert stopped. He stood up from his desk abruptly, nearly knocking it over. He stepped back from it, and leaned against the wall.

He saw her breasts that night Laughton had attacked her.

_How dare you use the image of her half naked body from that dark night to satisfy yourself._

This fact had done nothing to stop himself physically.

Javert ran a sweaty hand through his hair, and felt a tightness in his uniform trousers.

A frustrated moan escaped his lips.

"I... am...a stupid...frustrated school boy." He looked towards his door, and deeply sighed. "She's done this to me."

"The sin of the streets may distract me from my own." And Javert left his thinking room, and made his way out of his estate, throwing on his caped overcoat, thanking God that as he walked out of the front door, that there was no sign of his physical admiration of Eponine.

As he walked out into the night, towards the gate that released him into his business, he heard his name.

"Javert!"

"Eponine," when he breathed her name, the cool air turned it into fog.

He turned around, and looked up.

She was standing on her balcony, this late at night. She was looking at him, and from where he stood, he could see some small wistful smile upon her beautiful face. She looked like the mythological goddess that hungry artists painted, with gentle caution so that every feature would come out right. The stars seemed to shine brighter with her eyes embracing them.

He could say nothing for a moment, until he moved closer below the balcony. "Why are you not sleeping?"

"I could ask you the same thing," and she smirked at him.

He hesitated, smiling slightly.

Eponine looked down at him from the balcony. Her blanket was wrapped tightly round her. She often found herself on the balcony. It was a pleasure she always loved and rarely enjoyed. As a matter of fact, the one time she had sat on a roof, was with Marius. Enroljas was there as well, but to Eponine, at that past time, she only looked upon Marius, her eyes glimmering with pathetic, desperate affection.

She narrowed her eyes at the thought, but found, eyeing the man who stood below her balcony, that it rid her of the pain from that time.

He was smiling a little, the Inspector.

It didn't startle her as it should. It rather made her feel like he had squeezed her hand instead.

"You should return to bed," he demanded from down below. "The air is cold, and it will guarantee illness."

"I'll be all right!" She told him, snuggling the blanket.

"No," he replied, narrowing his thick eyebrows. "You will not."

"How do you know?" She questioned him.

_She loved interrogation, the minx._

Javert arched an eyebrow. "Do not question my authority."

Eponine didn't find this threatening. "You may be the Inspector, Javert, but you are not my Papa." In truth, she _preferred_ Javert to order this. Thenardier had never looked out for her.

She blushed, and was not certain as to why.

Javert stared up at her before walking away. A rosy tint had spread across her cheeks.

In the recesses of his mind, he saw her face, flushed, panting beneath him- her black eyelashes fluttering as her brown eyes innocently looked upon him.

She didn't mean to anger him with her previous statement, because she saw how Javert walked away into the night, hastily, pulling his hat onto his head.

"Goodnight, Inspector!" And she didn't care if his neighbors heard.

Javert looked back at her, and offered her a nod to be generous. He looked at her. She leaned over the railing, and his stomach tightened. "Go to sleep!"

Eponine stood up front the balcony edge, and sighed, giving in. She started to turn away from the balcony to return to her bed. Her eyelids were growing heavy, anyway.

"I am not going to sleep because you told me to," she thought out loud, and she retreated inside of her bedchamber.

It was funny how comfortable she had become with Inspector Javert. She had elaborated on this alot of late, and decided not to anymore. She would let things be. She was safe here. She was alive. She was fed. She was warm. She was content.

He watched her close the glass doors to her bedchamber, and narrowed his eyes.

Then, he opened and closed the gate behind him, slipped around the corner, and became a phantom of the night, on patrol for vagabonds, but only thinking of Eponine.


End file.
